


The truth is stranger than my own worst dreams

by Comade



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Newt gets his memory back, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-04-04 21:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14029479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comade/pseuds/Comade
Summary: For as long as he could remember, Newt had always had these fragments of memory deep inside his mind. A house, a warm feeling of safety, the sun, and a pale shade of blue. He had always tried not to think too much about it, knowing he would probably never get his memory back.Little did he know that, one day, he would become a part of Janson's plan to keep Thomas from rebelling by breaking him mentally. Newt should've known some memories are meant to be forgotten.





	1. I took a little journey to the unknown

“Don't you ever get the weird impression that you still have some fragments of memory from your old life deep in your mind?”

Newt was laying on his bed with Thomas, his eyes glued to the ceiling, deep in his thoughts. He heard a shuffle beside him, and guessed that the brunet must had turned his head to look at him, probably giving him a questionning look. They had been laying down in silence for almost twenty minutes, only hearing the light snoring of their friends occupying the others bunk beds, until Newt had absent-mindely voiced a thought he had had in mind for years out loud. Well, out loud was an overstatement since his voice had been barely above a whisper, not wanting to wake the others up.

“I can't get a hold of it, but... It feels like it's there.” Newt resumed. “Just waiting for me to remember.”

Newt didn't even know what had pushed him to keep talking. This thought had been occupying his mind for a long time now, but he had never bothered to tell anyone about it, thinking it was just an impression and nothing else. That moment just felt like the right time to tell someone about it. He was laying next to Thomas in his bed, a deep silence had settled between them, and he could feel the comfortable warmth of the brunet's body next to him. Everything just felt so calm and soothing, but especially, it all felt very normal. Like it was just how it was supposed to be, spending their nights quietly talking to each other until they both slowly drifted into sleep in the same bed. They had only started doing it three days after arriving into the facility. Thomas had felt restless, tossing and turning in his bed, until he had heard Newt telling him to “bloody stop moving so much” from the bed above him. They had started talking quietly, and at some point the brunet had climbed into his friend's bed. Falling asleep together hadn't been their intention, but the next day, waking up next to each other hadn't felt weird at all, and their friends didn't even look twice, so they just kept doing it, realizing that finding sleep was easier when they weren't alone. It had now been a week, and none of them planned on stopping this “cohabitation” that had become for them an habit.

A few seconds passed, and Newt wondered for a second if Thomas had fallen asleep, until a quiet voice finally rose up beside him. “You have some memories?”

“More like an old dream you barely remember, where everything is blurry and all you can really remember is the atmosphere.” Newt reckoned, a soft smile on his lips. “I remember a secluded house. A warm feeling of safety. The sun. And a pale shade of blue.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, and when Newt turned his head to glance at Thomas, he was greeted by a pair of wide doe eyes staring at him intently. There was something in his eyes that Newt couldn't quite put his finger on. His stare wasn't sparkling with interest, or worry, it was just really calm. His half-lidded eyes seemed thoughtful and gave out softness and affection. He had a lazy smile on his face that the blond would probably have fallen for if he wasn't already deeply in love. “It seems very peaceful.” Thomas muttered after a few seconds, his voice a little hoarse. “I wish I'd have some pieces of memory like this.” A small smile tugged at the corners of Newt's lips, as he turned his head to look back at the ceiling, finding himself incapable of holding his friend's penetrating stare any longer.

“Do you think we'll get our memory back one day?” Newt asked in a breath, his soft features suddenly creased with a grave expression.

Thomas kept silent for a few seconds, and the blond immediately knew that he wasn't looking for an answer: the brunet just didn't know if he had the heart to tell him the truth. From the corner of his eyes, Newt saw him move a little, shifting to be in the same position as him, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling. “... I don't know.” His voice came out in a whisper, filled with sorrow. Newt could almost hear an apology behind his tone, and, for some reason he couldn't put his finger on, he hated it. The last thing he wanted was to hear Thomas speaking like that. He was the one who always believed in a better life, the one who made them fight. He was never apologetic, because he was never giving up.

“But,” Thomas carefully took Newt's hand in his, his fingers barely touching his skin as if it was the most fragile thing he had ever held, “for now, we don't need that sun. We have you.”

In this kind of situation, Newt would have expected a fluttering heart, butterflies in his stomach or rosy cheeks, and yet, as the words slowly sunk in, he only felt a warm feeling of happiness spreading through him. No blushing, no stuttering, just pure and unconcealed joy. He was over the exciting, crazy phase of falling in love. The obsession had turned into a deep affection, the blazing fire had become a gentle but consuming flame inside of him. He squeezed Thomas' hand tightly in his, and felt a gentle smile grow on his face. Holding someone's hand had never felt so right.

* * *

“We need to talk about the subject A2, Thomas Edison.”

Despite the late hour, a few voices could be heard echoing in the corridors of the east quarter, a quarter only a few scientists had access to. It was where everything happened, it was what Janson had promised to the young people they received every months as “greener pastures”. He couldn't even imagine what would happen if Thomas came to discover that the greener pastures were in reality cold dark rooms where people were hanged from the ceiling while having their life pumped out of them. He had never feared one of their subjects so much. Thomas was a real threat for them, he was impulsive, unpredictable, and was surrounded by secrets that were only waiting to be discovered. He was described by many as a time bomb, but Janson didn't see it that way. Thomas wasn't the bomb, he was the spark, and the facility was nothing but a giant explosive. Thomas only needed to find the informations he was desesperately trying to find for everything to be over. One small spark among the building, and everything would collapse.

That was why Janson had convoked a few of the scientists that had worked on Thomas' group for an emergency meeting at almost midnight. He wanted a solution, and he wanted it now. He couldn't risk to lose it all just because he had waited with his arms crossed, hoping that Thomas just wouldn't attempt to do anything.

“A few security guards has reported to me that he has started acting suspiciously. He is trying to figure out things, and I have no doubt he'll take no time in finding a way to get the informations he wants, which means we have to act now.” Janson stated, standing in front of the few scientists. “We can't risk him starting a revolution here, we have to break him, to reduce him to nothing.”

A cold, heavy silence settled in the room as the scientists eyed each other warily, unsure of what to do. They knew that WCKD didn't have the most orthodox ways to figure out a cure, but they still felt uneasy with the idea of purposely arming a young person, especially if it wasn't directly linked with the search of a treatment to save the world. They were just scientists, after all. What seemed like a few minutes had already passed, until Janson set his eyes on a woman in her thirties with short blonde hair, getting impatient. The woman, called Graham, opened her mouth, about to protest, when she was cut by one of her collegues.  
“He takes his strenght from his friends. He fights for, and with them.” the man answered, drawing the other's attention to him.

Just like her other collegues, she only knew him by his family name, Kepler. He was the youngest, and had only been integrated to the facility for a few months now. He had a tall and thin figure, brown hair that always seemed messy and sharp eyes that made him look untrustworthy. Janson didn't seem to care about his suspicious eyes, giving him a look that hurried him to continue.  
“... I may know how to proceed.” Kepler began, as he walked towards a desk, opening one of its drawer to look through the files. It took him a few seconds to find the one he was looking for, before he turned back towards the group, opening the file to read its first paper. “Subject A5, Isaac Newton, suffers from severe depression, has already tried to kill himself.”

When he tore his eyes away from the paper to look back at the group, he was met by confused stares. None of them understood what he was getting at, not even Janson. He wondered for a second if they were all dumb or if they just had never met the group of young people they were talking about. “He's the closest one to Thomas, they never leave each other's side.” he explained with an exasperated tone. “We could make him break, take him away from Edison.” the brunet added, talking to them as if they were completely stupid.  
A gasp was heard among the group, to which the scientist responded with a cold glare. “We can't do that!” Graham cried out, suddenly looking very pale. Kepler quietly snapped back, retorting that they had no choice. Before the two scientists had time to start an argument, Janson interrupted them, asking Kepler how he would make him break, without even throwing a glance towards Graham. The brunet looked back at him, his eyes suddenly sparkling with delight. Janson kept himself from rolling his eyes at how pathetic the man was, filled with pride as soon as his boss gave him even just a bit of attention. Kepler opened his file, going through its papers before finally finding what he was looking for, getting a specific sheet out of it.

“All we need to do is to give him his memory back.” he announced as he handed it to Janson, his words dripping with an excess of confidence.  
Realization flashed through Graham's eyes, and the frown on her face deepened. “You can't let him do that.” she scolded, her voice suddenly low, almost threatening. Janson briefly glanced at her, before his eyes went back to the sheet in his hands. She already knew the subject's past, she had been the one assignated to him when the group had first arrived into the facility.

Before Janson could even tell her to get her emotions under control or get out of the room, Kepler's voice rose once again, allowing his boss to keep on reading without another interruption from the blonde. “We have no other choice.” he retorted sharply. “If Thomas rebels, everything we've built until now will fall apart.”

“And what if his friend's death make him even angrier? What if it pushes him to rebel?”

“We have to take the risk. If we don't do anything, he'll rebel anyway.” the brunet hissed, getting more and more annoyed by his collegue's behavior.

“But-” Graham was about to reply again, not done with this argument, when Janson suddenly put the sheet down onto the table with a slam, drawing their attention back to him. He had read enough. He didn't need more than these few lines about Isaac Newton's past to know that Kepler's idea could definitely guaranty them the end of Thomas Edison as a threat to WCKD.  
  
“He'll go through the procedure as soon as possible. Edison seems suspicious, we can't waste time anymore.” Janson announced, already heading towards the door as Kepler quickly wrote down his instructions. “It'll take a few days for the memories to fully come back, we'll keep him locked in and cut all contact with his friends. No visit, no talking, nothing but him and his memories.”

* * *

 

_The sun had never shined so brightly._

_From inside the house, he could see that the sky was pitch black, and yet, he still felt it. He felt the sun shining brightly around him, he could feel its warmth. He could feel everything. The scent of the wood crackling into the fireplace, the cologne of his father and the soft hands of his mother ruffling his hair._

_He could feel everything, and yet, as he looked around him, his vision wasn't clear enough for him to see his surroundings. Everything was blurry. He knew he was inside of a house, but he still couldn't see the walls, the ceiling, or even the silhouettes of the people he knew were present around him. He still heard the wind outside of the house, the quiet ruffle of leaves, everything that made him understand that this house was far from the city, but he still couldn't identify anything around him._

“ _Newt?” a quiet voice called him. “Newt, come here.”_

_He turned around, and could suddenly discern a silhouette in the corner of the room. He took a few steps forward, and as he got closer, he started to notice another silhouette beside the one that had called him. He squinted his eyes, trying to see the person more clearly, but saw nothing else than a mixed blur of memories. Another silhouette, the sun, and a pale shade a blue._

* * *

There was a certain continuity in Newt's life that he hated. Even after every changes he had been through, from the glade to the facility, he would always wake up with a lump in his throat and watery eyes. The blond would lay down for a couple of minutes, gazing into space and trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. He knew he would never get over this feeling of regret, this feeling of losing his home every time he woke up.

But, as Newt felt someone stir behind him, he remembered the change that had been added to his life lately. The person he wished would become a continuity. The blond felt an arm drape over his waist, and tried to fight the smile that tugged at his lips. For almost a week now, Newt's mornings had felt less gloomy. Thomas' sole presence eased his sorrow, his warmth reassured him. At some point, Newt had almost wondered if his warmth was the one he dreamed about because of how familiar it felt, but it wasn't possible since he had had these dreams longer than he had knew Thomas. In the end, the blond had concluded that maybe Thomas felt like home, and nothing could have pleased him more than this realization.

“Wake up, shanks!” a voice suddenly shouted right beside his ear, startling Newt.

The blond felt a sudden movement next to him, followed by a thump and a groan. He turned his head and saw Thomas propped up on his elbow, his eyes barely opened as he grumbled curses under his breath, his right arm still slung over the blond's waist. Newt tried to stiffle his laugh, but still received a glare from the brunet. He simply shrugged, and jerked his chin toward Minho to denounce his friend. Thomas' eyes flickered to the culprit, glaring daggers at him. This one gave his friend an unimpressed look, but still justified himself. “Everyone's waiting for you two love birds to get up.” he shrugged dismissively. This made Newt realize that the room had been strangely quiet since he had woken up, with no snoring or tossing around. He craned his neck in an attempt to look over the edge of the bed without getting out of Thomas' hold, and saw that Frypan and Winston were also already up, sitting on the edge of their bed with tired looks on their faces. None of them were talking and they were still half-sleeping.

He looked back at Minho, and saw his friend's eyes flicker to the arm Thomas still had slunger over Newt waist, a smirk stretching across his face. Newt felt a blush creeping across his cheeks, but tried to brush it off when Minho gave him an amused but questionning look, simply shrugging even though he knew his friend could probably see how flustered he was.

“C'mon, we're starving over here.” Minho hurried them.

Newt rolled his eyes, and went to sit up on the edge of the bed when he felt something keeping him down, having forgotten about Thomas' arm. He turned his head to look at the brunet behind him, and saw that this one had just realized their position, quickly taking it away with an apology. Newt shrugged it off, answering that he didn't mind, and climbed down the bunk bed. Thomas soon followed him, and, after having briefly greeted Frypan and Winston, who still looked like they were only physically there, the group got out of their room and headed towards the showers. Minho would've gone sooner, if they didn't have to all get out of the room at the same time, making it easier for the guards than to go and verify in each room if there was someone left behind.

As they slowly made their way through the corridors, still tired and hoping that a shower would help dissipating the hazy fog that shrouded their minds. They were only a few corridors away from their destination when Newt started to notice the wary looks Thomas gave to almost every single scientist they crossed path with. “Still suspicious about this place?” he asked, stiffling a yawn. This drew Thomas' attention back to him, and the brunet nodded, giving him a brief glance.

“There's something weird about these people. I just can't figure out what.”

Newt sighed, rolling his eyes. He knew Thomas was probably right, firstly because most of the time, he was, which the blond hated; and secondly because Newt had an odd feeling about all of this too. But, right now, he just didn't want to deal with it. They were barely out of the maze, didn't they deserve a little rest? He had already spent three years fighting against the creators, he didn't want it to do it again, or, at least, not yet. But, he also knew that he couldn't just ignore the problem. If Thomas was right and this facility actually hid some dark secrets, they had to discover it. Newt just wanted to delay the inevitable.

“Can we just,” he paused, looking for the right words, “ignore it? Just for this morning?”

Thomas gave him a puzzled look, as if he couldn't believe Newt would even propose that. “You want me to just ignore it? They could be planning on killing us for all we know, Newt.”

“Yeah, I know, I just...” Newt sighed, looking away. “I'm just asking for one morning. Please.”

Thomas reproachful eyes suddenly softened, and turned into a comprehensive one. He looked away, and rubbed his neck in an embarrassed manner, recognizing that he may had overreacted for a second. After all, Newt was only asking for a few hours of peace after spending a few years in hell, who was he to decide he didn't deserve them? “No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have reacted like that.” the brunet sighed. “I'll give you that morning. I won't talk about it at all, I swear. No suspicions, no theories.” he promised, almost tempted to make a pinky promise just for the sake of it.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Newt looking at him, a grateful smile stretched across his face. Thomas turned his head to meet his glance, and smiled back, not able to fight it at the sight of his friend's gleeful eyes. They were suddenly in their own bubble, not even looking in front of them as they blindly followed their friends through the corridors, just smiling at each other like two idiots. That ridiculous bubble almost made them run into the woman who came to a halt right in front of Newt. The blond almost bumped into her but stopped right in time, giving her a strange look. He was about to ask her what she “bloody wanted” when she interrupted him.

“Isaac Newton?” the blond nodded sharply, still giving her a wary look. “I'm gonna need you to come with me.”

At that moment, Newt noticed that two guards had just joined her, and instinctively took a step back. Thomas made a move to step in front of him, but Minho grabbed his arm, silently shaking his head. There was no need to make a scene yet, they didn't even know what she wanted. The woman took a small step forward, and offered Newt a reassuring smile. “It's just a quick procedure, we'll explain it to you on the way.” she added, holding out her hand. “We won't do anything you don't agree to.”

Newt glanced at Thomas, silently asking for his opinion, but the brunet wasn't looking at him, staring at the woman with dark, threatening eyes. The blond hesitated for a second, biting his lower lips in contemplation, but ended up taking a step forward, going to follow her. He had no other choice, but, weirdly, he also didn't feel like they were a threat at the moment. If they really planned on hurting him in any way, they wouldn't have come to get him in front of the group, especially in front of Thomas. The woman gave him an approving smile, and started walking with him in the opposite direction of the showers, a hand hovering behind his back to make sure he kept walking.

“Wait, where are you taking him?!” he heard Thomas shout as he got further away from the group.

He barely had time to sneak a glance behind his back before they disappeared around a corner, seeing Thomas being held back by a guard, and meeting Minho's worried eyes. At that moment, nothing could have make his anxiety worse than seeing Minho, the confident one, so distraught. He suddenly wished he wouldn't have agreed so quickly to follow what he presumed being one of the many scientists.

It took them less than a minute to reach lab, not giving Newt the time to think about it more. After they walked in, he barely had time to look around the lab before the woman walked into another room. He stopped for a second hesitantly, but was suddenly shoved in it by a guard. The door closed shut behind him, and he quickly turned around, attempting to open the now locked door. His frown deepened, as panic started to rise inside of him. The room was slightly darker than what he was used to, only illuminated by a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, and it took him a second to notice that the woman who had brought him here was already preparing a syringue next to the single bed that was occupying the space. He took a step back, his back now against the door, putting as much space as he could between him and her. “What's going on?” he asked in a cold tone. “What are you doing??” he repeated when she didn't reply fast enough.

“We're just going to administrate you a treatment that'll give you your memory back.” the woman answered calmly, as she flicked the syringue. “That's just the protocol, your friends will be the next.”

“The protocol, uh?” Newt repeated doubtfully. “Why weren't we told about this before?"

“We don't give their memory back to everyone, we go through their files and observe their behavior first. We need to know their mental health to decide if they're ready to go through it.”

Newt would have usually snapped back with a sarcastic answer, saying how they had looked at the suicidal limping kid and thought “oh, yeah, that one seems mentally healthy”, but the possibility of getting his memory back was enough for him to stay quiet. He knew this seemed shady, his instinct was screaming at him to just stop standing there obediently, but he just couldn't bring himself to do anything. He was finally getting a chance of remembering his family, something he had dreamed about for years, how could he disagree? And, even if he had tried to refuse, he knew he wouldn't have been able to get out anyway. The door was locked, there was no escape, and accepting his faith didn't seem that bad, so why would he try anything?

“I'm gonna need you to lay down, now.” the woman calmly asked him, drawing Newt's attention back to her.

The blond hesitated for another second, but ended up heading toward the bed, choosing to take his chance. At this point, his body was just moving on its own. He had waited years for this, he was incapable of refusing. So, he laid down on the bed, and took a deep breath, keeping his eyes glued on the ceiling. He could feel his heartbeat raise and his limbs start to shake, but tried to ignore it. Even though the thought of getting his memory back would usually almost make him tear up of joy, he was terrified. Terrified of what he was gonna remember, terrified it would make him feel even more empty, knowing that he would never be able to go back to his old life, to reunite with the people he had lost. Newt was so scared that he instinctively started listing the fragments of memory he already had and he had been dreaming about for years.The secluded house, the warmth, the sun, the pale shade of blue. He kept repeating incessantly the same words in his head, until they were the only things occupying his mind. The secluded house, the warmth, the sun, the pale shade of blue. At some point, they all started mixing together, but he kept repeating them until they didn't make sense anymore, until all he could see was a blurry mix of colors and the vague shape of a house.

He didn't look up when the woman came by his side and started strapping his limbs onto the bed, didn't react when she started looking for a vein in his forearm. He barely felt the fingers hitting a spot on his arm, the touch quickly replaced by the cold feeling of a metal against his skin, slowly piercing through it to inject a strangely warm liquid into his veins. Newt's heart started beating faster, and he suddenly felt the need to move, to run away, to do anything but stay on that bed. He tried moving his arms but the straps kept him down. He saw the woman who had just injected the content of the syringue in him get up hastily before getting out of the room. For some reason, she feared his reaction to the treatment, and that only made Newt's anxiety worse. His breathing got heavier, irregular, and he started fighting the straps keeping him down even more, trashing around. He couldn't focus anymore, all he could feel was the warmth of the product spreading through his body, and all he could think about was how he wanted it to stop, how he didn't want this anymore. He had agreed too quickly, he had been the impulsive, he had acted stupidly. He wasn't supposed to be the impulsive one, he was supposed to be calm and thoughtful, but he hadn't been able to resist the opportunity of remembering his family, of knowing what that pale shade of blue was.

There was suddenly a voice echoing in the room, coming from a speaker hung high on the wall. One of the scientists was telling him that he needed to calm down, and, even though Newt's first instinct was to tell them to go screw themselves and start trashing even more, he was scared of what was happening, and had no other choice but to obey. He stopped moving, and closed his eyes, pursing his lips as if he was bracing himself for an impact. He tried thinking about his fragments of memories again, tried to see the mix of colors, the shape of the house, but it was all gone. So he started mentally repeating the words again, ignoring the best he could the injection slowly spreading inside his veins. The house, the warmth, the sun, the blue. The words didn't stick, the images didn't come back. He was becoming more and more terrified by the seconds, he desesperately needed someone to help him, someone to be by his side. He needed Thomas.

The fog in his mind seemed to get a little clearer, and he suddenly could see a pair of wide doe eyes staring at him intently. Newt was suddenly back to the night before. He saw the lazy smile on his lips, he heard his slurred words, felt the touch of his fingers against his skin. His heartbeat started getting slower, and he could feel his body becoming less tense, not knowing if it was because of him or of the treatment. He was so caught up in his memories of Thomas that he barely felt his own eyelids slowly falling shut against his will, as he slowly drifted into sleep. There was now no going back.


	2. Now the darkness got a hold on me

Newt wished he could say the first memory he got back was better than anything he could have dreamed of. He would have also probably wished he could say it was like dreaming with his eyes open, but, now that he knew what dreaming with his eyes open felt like, he would never wish for it again. That wasn't a pleasant experience at all, and he now hated every book and every single person that had ever used this expression, because it was very naive to think that being conscious and unconscious at the same time was a enjoyable thing to live. He knew he wasn't going to get his whole memory back in less than an hour, but a hazy vision of the house he had been dreaming of for years after a couple hours was quite disappointing.

He had been waiting on his bed, sitting on the edge and trying to focus on playing with them hem of his shirt in an attempt to keep himself from fidgeting when the first memory had hit him. His vision had become clouded, and his head had started spinning, and, as soon as the fog in his brain had dissipated, he had gotten up, stumbling a little before regaining his balance and taking a frightened look at his surroundings. He wasn't in the room anymore. He was standing in the middle of a house which he instantly recognized as being the one from his dreams. The only difference that kept Newt in touch with reality was the lightening, and it took him a few seconds to understand that it was because the light wasn't coming from the window, but from the piteous flickering lightbulb that hanged from the ceiling of his cell. He was at two places at once, torn between two visions. Newt couldn't even see anything, not because of the dim lightening that the lightbulb offered him, but because of his blurred vision. His eyes couldn't focus on anything, constantly flickering from one point to another, trying to settle on one of the hazy figures around him. He was looking around him in a daze, feeling like he was about to lose his balance every time he turned his head, and not even knowing if his bed would still be there for him to land on. He had no idea of what was going on, no idea of what was still real and what was just a fragment of memory, and at that point, the only thing he was certain of was that this was the beginning of his path down to insanity.

“Newt? Come and help us, would you?”

The blond felt his feet move beneath him, not even knowing if he had reacted instinctively or if his body was moving on its own. It was all just too confusing, and Newt was too overwhelmed to try to understand the whole situation now. All he could do was to watch helplessly as his body walked across the dim, shadowy room, until he walked near a window. Newt didn't immediately understand why it caught his eyes, until he noticed that it was the only thing he could see clearly here. He threw a questionning look toward the window, bewildered, when it finally hit him. There, in the reflection of the glass, a boy was looking back at him, with wide, perplexed eyes. He was staring at himself, only a couple years younger, with a few inches shorter, rounder cheeks and brighter eyes. He blinked a few times, incapable of tearing his eyes away from his own reflection, and, suddenly, his memories had never felt more real.

* * *

 

“Can't sleep?”

The low voice that had suddenly risen up in the dark room startled Thomas, who had now been deep in his thoughts for probably way too long already. The brunet tried to glare at his friend despite the darkness, blindly scowling at the bunk bed above him where Minho had taken Newt's place for the night. He didn't even know how Minho was aware of his late awakeness, given that a heavy silence had settled in the dorm almost an hour ago. “I get that the bed must feel too big now.” his friend muttered again when he got no response from the brunet.

Thomas rolled his eyes, and shifted a little, reajusting his arms under his head. “Something bad is happening, I can feel it.” he grumbled, frowning for what was probably the hundredth time this day. He had kept worrying over Newt all day, and, even though his friends had tried to reassure him at first, they had now given up, figuring that at this point they couldn't stop him from being anxious over every little things that happened to their blond friend. Every time something happened to Newt, Thomas was always the first to notice it, and the first to try and find a solution. He was really protective toward the young man, even more than Minho, who had known the blond for way longer than Thomas had. He had such strong feelings towards Newt it was almost sickening to watch, but, even his friends had to admit his affection for the young man was sweet, if not annoying. Usually, in this situation, Minho would've been the first to mock him for acting like his mom, but, this night, he was just as worried as Thomas was, so he kept his mouth shut, and quietly listened to his friend's rant.

“We have no idea what's happening to him.” Thomas let out in a breath, feeling his throat tighten with despair. He had been filled with anger and anxiousness all day, but now he was exhausted, and all he had left was his concern and loneliness. “We just let them take him, without any protest. We didn't even try to fight them.”

A few minutes went by, and, as Thomas started to think his friend had fallen asleep, the silence that had just settled between them was once again disturbed by a few hushed words. “It's only been a day, Thomas. He'll probably be back tomorrow.” Minho whispered in a low, tired voice.

These words were probably meant to reassure him, to tell him to leave his worries aside and go to sleep, but it only made Thomas' heart sink further into his chest. He wasn't hearing Minho's usual upbeat, confident voice. He was hearing the same exhausted voice he had once heard during his first night spent in the maze. A voice that knew everything wasn't gonna be alright, and that was begging him not to keep talking about it. So, without any other word, Thomas closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach, not wanting to hear once again that voice begging for silence.

* * *

 

Newt had no idea how long had went by before he got his second memory. He had already completely lost track of time, too absorbed in the vision of his young self staring back at him that kept playing in his head relentlessly. The blond was now laying on the ground, facing the ceiling. Hundreds of questions were running through his mind, wondering if getting his memory back really was a good idea. He was scared, even terrified of what he was going to discover, so, as always when he started getting fearful, he looked up, and stared at the ceiling, trying to think of a memory that would finally put his raging mind at ease. He couldn't have been less surprised when Thomas popped into his mind. This whole “love” thing was getting ridiculous, truly.

The last night he had spent with the brunet before being taken away from his friends was now replaying in his head, and he was back in their shared room, looking back at Thomas' half-lidded eyes and lazy smile. He could feel his hand barely brushing against his, the heat his body was radiating, and, then, in an instant, he was laying down on a wooden floor, buried under a warm blanket and surrounded by a few persons.

It took him a few seconds to process where he was, but, as soon as the warmth around him hit him, his brain froze, and he didn't care the slightest about where he was anymore. He had never felt so safe in his entire life, covered by a giant blanket which drowned out the sound of the adults talking around him. So, despite his first instinct of trying to figure out the situation, Newt only curled up a little more on himself, forgetting for a second who he really was, forgetting he wasn't just a kid trying to take a nap while his parents were talking. He could feel the rough touch of wooden floor under his feet, and a familiar smell of burning wood he had started to recognize easily after hundreds of dreams. Deep down, he knew he was in the house again, he didn't even need to ponder.

Usually, Newt would have been clever. He would have took the blanket off his face, tried to take a peek at the adults around him, who he knew were his parents. He already knew that, later, he would regret this dumb thoughtless decision of not even trying to see what his parents looked like, but, right now, he didn't think about it for even a second. He didn't think about his parents, didn't listen to the worried hushed words they shared, didn't even care when he heard them talk about a virus. He was warm, safely tucked under a blanket, carefully layed down between the comforting presence of his two parents. He was a child. He was careless, innocent, happy, and he didn't want to go back to what he was before. So, without thinking about any consequence, Newt closed his eyes, let out a satisfied sigh, and sunk deeper into the covers. He would enjoy these few moments of warmth as much as he could, and if it meant ignoring the winter getting closer, then so be it.

* * *

 

“ _It has been four days, Minho.”_

“ _I know.”_

“ _I just can't wait like that anymore. I need to do something.” There was a pause, an hesitation. A sigh escaping his chapped lips, his throat suddenly too dry to say more than a few words. “I miss him.”_

“ _I know.”_

“ _I think I...” Another pause, another hesitation. A few unspoken words that refused to leave his throat._

_Another sigh, another silence. “... I know.”_

* * *

 

A dumb decision was never a pleasant thing to think about, and remembering it for the first time, even after years, was probably what hell felt like. If Newt was to be asked about it, he'd say he wished he could go back in time and stare at his child self judgemently while shaking his head in disapproval. Usually, when people said they wished they could go back in time, it was to slap themselves, but, he had to admit it, child Newt was terribly cute and even himself didn't want to lay a hand on... well, on himself. Newt just wished he had a way to stop him, to make him understand that what he was doing was wrong. The worst thing about all of it was probably the innocence of child Newt. He didn't mean to do wrong, he was just curious. He just wanted to discover the world, he was eager to see what was waiting for him outside, like any kid locked up in a house during his whole childhood would feel.

So, Newt had to watch helplessly as he saw young Newt escape from the house by climbing the window while his parents weren't watching. He had to watch helplessly as the poor kid landed on the ground, scrambling up to his feet in a second, too excited for what he was going to see, too young for this reality.

He could never have expected what he was going to see.

“ _Wow!"_ he heard the young Newt breath out, his breath turning into mist as it hit the cold air.

The glint in Newt's eyes was the exact same as the one that sparkled in his young self's, as they both stood outside, ankles deep in the snow. Newt's eyes kept flickering all around, from pure white blanket that spread as far as his eyes could see, to the white figures of what must have been dying trees, to the light shade that illuminated the sky and to the last snowflakes that gently fell from the sky. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene that played in front of him, eager to carve that memory into his mind. It was the most breathtaking landscape he had ever seen. He was witnessing a world he couldn't even have dreamed of. He knew that there was different extreme weather around the world, and that some places didn't suffer from the scorch trials, but that place was beyond imagination. He knew this landscape wouldn't last, he knew that a storm usually raged in this place, and the fact that it was all ephemeral made the moment even more magic.

“ _Come on, Newt!”_ a sweet voice shouted.

Newt finally tore his eyes away from the snow, his eyes searching for the person who had just called his young self. He quickly scanned his surroundings, ignoring the few places that weren't covered in snow and that revealed pieces of dead, morbid nature, when his eyes finally fell on the strands of blonde hair contrasting with the thick blanket of snow covering the groung.

“ _The storm's gonna be back in less than an hour, we don't have time to waste!”_

He squinted his eyes, trying to discern more precisely the silhouette, when he finally saw her. There, laying in the snow, with her eyes creased in pure joy and with golden hair spread beneath her: the sun.

In his whole life, he had never seen someone smile so brightly. The girl was flapping her arms and legs back and forth to spread out the white powder, giggling uncontrollably. From where he was, Newt could barely see her, but, as soon as he noticed her smile, he instantly could picture her precisely in his mind, as if his memories of her had never really left his head. He could remember her heart-shaped face, her soft features, her bright mocking eyes. He could remember how much she looked like him.

Newt felt hot tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, a wide smile spreading across his face, almost hurting his cheeks. His shoulders started shaking a little as a laugh escaped his lips, and he couldn't have looked crazier at that moment, laughing while having genuine tears streaming down his cheeks. The blond couldn't care less about how he looked at that moment, because he had a sister. He had a sister, and he had just remembered her, and suddenly the emptiness he had felt deep down all these years was replaced by a warm feeling of happiness. He had found his home. He remembered her, he remembered everything now, every fight, every laugh, every time they had hidden under a blanket to watch the television. She was just two years younger than him, and he couldn't exactly remember her age, but he felt like she was around ten during this memory.

“ _Don't shout, mom's gonna hear you!”_ he suddenly heard his young self hush, before running off to join her.

Newt wiped the tears of joy from his cheeks with the back of his hand, and let a shaky breath escape his lips, almost surprised when he didn't see it turn into mist, until he remembered he was only reliving a memory, and wasn't truly a part of it. He heard a thump a few feet away, and looked back at the two children playing, seeing that his young self had just tripped and fell face first into a pile of snow. His eyes creased as he laughed at him, slightly shaking his head, and, at that moment, he couldn't think anymore about how dangerous this was. He couldn't think about the flare and the storm and the unknown anymore, because he had never felt this happy and it was all that mattered right now. That's why he barely paid attention to the shady silhouette in the distance. Newt's eyes were so glued on the sun, that he didn't even glance at the dawn, under the form of a shady silhouette slowly getting closer to them.

When Newt finally got back to the reality, he found himself standing up in front of the metallic wall of his cell, the tears on his cheeks being the only thing he had left from his memory. He usually would have felt miserable, filled with sorrow at the sudden change between the snowy landscape and the dirty old wall, but his cheeks still hurt from smiling, and his heart was still fluttering with joy. He had just relived his happiest memory, and nothing could take that away from him.

From the corner of his eyes, he noticed a tray that had been put down on the ground right in front of the door, and chose to ignore it, not feeling hungry anyway. He only remembered eating a three times since he had gotten here, but had no idea how many time they gave him food each day, so he couldn't really guess for how long he had been here. He still felt like he had been there for a long time already, so they probably only gave him food once a day, because keeping him locked up in there apparently wasn't already enough.

Shaking his head, Newt went to lay down on his bed, not wanting to think about the people that had put him in this cell. He wanted to stay as happy as he had been during his dream. He was protecting it like a little flame inside of him, faltering at each brisk that the harsh reality created. Letting out a satisfied sigh, despite the hard matress he was laying on, Newt put his arms behind his head, and closed his eyes, enjoying the last moments of the flickering flame. Would it be pathetic to think about how the last time he had felt this way was when he was laying down next to Thomas? Probably. Would that keep Newt from thinking about Thomas anytime he felt happy? Probably not.

The only thing he was now sure about was that, if Newt had known what was waiting for him, he would have enjoyed this silence while it lasted.

If he had known how these two next day would make him go insane, he would have ripped his own ears off to escape from the voices.

He started hearing them in the middle of the night, without any fair warning. Newt was just calmly laying down on the rock hard matress, quietly thinking about his days back in the glade and enjoying the state of calmness that his last memory had granted him, when a voice rose up in the dark room. The shaking voice of a shouting woman, breathless and panicked. A familiar voice he wished he had never recognized.

“ _Go back inside, quick!!”_

He had shot up, blindly trying to look at his surroundings despite the darkness, but saw and heard nothing. The silence was back into the room, making him wonder if it had just been a fragment of his imagination. This upsetting silence didn't last, though, and, a few hours after, he heard another familiar voice. His father.

“ _Leave your mother alone, Newt. She needs to rest.”_

The voices came and left, without any reason and at any moment. The new one always scarier than the last. At first, he always had at least a few hours of calm before another came back, but, at some point, they started coming each hour, each minute, even each second, until they all started repeating themselves, even sometimes all at the same time, creating a buzz in his head that made him want to throw up.

“ _Be quiet, you're bothering her.”_

Always the same voice.

“ _Take care of your sister for a second, will you?”_

Scarier and scarier, until he knew the end of the story without even being told.

“ _Stop asking for her, Newt. You need to grow up, you're not a child anymore.”_

And then, a few hushed words, from a quiet, sweet voice he had already heard in his happiest memory. A few final words that finally lead him down the path of insanity.

“ _I think it's called the Flare.”_

* * *

 

“Six days, Minho!” There was a sigh, followed by a loud thump, which didn't seem to faze Thomas as he kept complaining. “Six days!”

The bulky boy had dropped his head, letting it hit the cold surface of the table they were having lunch on. “I can count, thanks.” he muttered, his words muffled as he let his face rest on the table, not even bothering to sit upright by decency. He heard a quiet laugh coming from Frypan next to him, but the giggle lacked warmth, and felt more empty than anything. They had been left without news from Newt for almost a week now, and they were all terribly worried. Thomas, on the other hand, was mad and restless, like a lion pacing in its cage.

“We need to do something. I can't wait like that anymore.” the brunet resumed, staring at the doors of the cafeteria which led to the laboratory, not even glancing at his friend when this one let out an exasperated groan.

“And what do you want us to do, Thomas?” Minho shot back harshly, sitting upright in an instant. “I'm just as worried as you are, but there's nothing we can do here, and you know it!”

Thomas glared back at him, clenching his jaw. They kept staring at each other for a few seconds, barely hearing Winston telling them to calm down in the background, until Thomas let out a sigh, looking away. He had no reason to get mad at Minho, and he knew it. He had no right to take his frustration out on him. “I'm sorry.” he mumbled, looking down at his clenched fists. Minho shrugged dismissively, and patted his shoulder with sympathy to show him it didn't matter. They were about to go back to their conversation, when Thomas' ears perked up at the sound of people talking a few feet away. A scientist had just walked through the doors that led to the laboratories, and was now exchanging a few words with one of the guards. The brunet was sure he had heard her mention Newt's name.

“Thomas?” Minho called him, noticing his friend's weird behavior.

Without even answering him, Thomas abruptly shot up, and walked towards the woman with short blonde hair at a quick pace. He heard his friends' footsteps right behind him as they rushed after him, and ignored their calls, walking even faster toward the woman. She noticed him barely a second before he reached her, and didn't have time to react before Thomas grabbed a fistful of her lab coat, controlled by a rage he had kept in for too long. “What are you doing to Newt?!” he shouted, not letting go of her even when he felt Minho's hand on his shoulder, trying to pull him back.

He saw a look of realization flash across her face, quickly replaced by guilt, and felt his blood boil inside of him, his suspicions now confirmed. Something wrong was happening.

“I...” the woman stuttered, before regaining her composure. “This is confidential.”

Thomas felt the grip on his shoulder let go of him, and instantly understood that Minho had also noticed the guilt in the scientist's eyes. He was suddenly pushed away from her by the guard, who went to stand between them, letting the woman enough time to retreat behind the doors. Thomas tried to go after her, but was stopped by the guard who grabbed him by the front of his shirt. He lifted him and withdrew his fist, about to knock him out, when Minho came in, punching the older man right in the jaw, who instantly dropped Thomas. The brunet looked up, and met his friend's eyes, who simply nodded at him. He had noticed the guilt in the scientist's eyes, and had understood, just as Thomas, that something was definitely wrong. A few other guards barged in the cafeteria, the rest of the gladers got up from their table, and, in an instant, all hell broke loose. They all started fighting side by side, and, suddenly, it was like back in the maze, all together against the grievers.

People were fighting all around him, throwing punches and shouting, and Thomas even saw some people they didn't know rushing toward them to lunge at a guard and join in. The brunet quickly scrambled up to his feet, and took a look at his surroundings, when his eyes fell on an unconscious guard laying down in the middle of the crowd. In a few steps, Thomas reached him, dodging a few punches at the same time, and bent down, snatching his magnetic card from his belt, before rushing back towards the doors. Whatever they were doing to Newt, he was about to find out.

* * *

 

The voices were gone.

The constant buzz in his head had faded as soon as he had heard the last one, but Newt still wasn't completely in touch with reality. He saw snow where there wasn't supposed to be snow, heard cries he was almost sure were his own, and felt his body moving on its own. Everything happened in a blur, until he was brought back to reality by the pain that shot through his fists. He was banging on the door, punching the metal with all of his strenght, and could feel a warm liquid trickling down his arm.

“Take my memory back!” he heard himself yell, until his voice became hoarse. “Take it back, you shanks!!”

He started slowing down, seeing the traces his bloody knuckles were leaving on the metal of the door, and gave it one last strong hit, before giving up, letting his forehead rest on the cold surface. He was panting, and his whole body was tensed, shaking. He felt like he had been like this for hours now, and couldn't even remember last time he wasn't so restless. He couldn't stop moving, and now that he had finally stopped punching the door like an utter idiot, he could feel his leg jitter uncontrollably under him. Newt needed to get out, he couldn't do it anymore. At that moment, he would have rather died than go through another memory, because he knew what was waiting for him. All of his previous flash back had been building up to this, all of his dreams had been giving him all this hope just to completely break him in the end. He knew the awakening was going to be harsh, and he already knew he wasn't strong enough. He couldn't lose them. Not again.

Letting out a shaky breath, Newt closed his eyes, and clenched his fists, wincing at the stinging pain in his knuckles. “Take it back...” he breathed out one last time, before he let himself fall down to his knees, his head between his hands, unaware of the man watching him.

“He's gonna be ready soon.” Janson announced, keeping his eyes on the computer screen that showed Newt's pitiful figure crouched down on the ground.

“Already? It has only been six days, it usually takes almost two weeks.” Kepler asked, the usual frown upon his features deepening.

Janson nodded absent-mindely, barely listening to the scientist as he kept his eyes glued to Newt's frail frame. “He's close to the most important memory. It's gonna destroy him.” he assured him confidently, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Kepler went to stand next to him, glancing at the screen. His frown seemed to soften for a second, as he took a step backward, feeling sick to his stomach at the sight of the shaking boy.

“How do you know?” he asked, faltering when he met his boss' sideways glare. “After all, he survived it when he was younger.” he added, shrugging dismissively.

It took Janson a few seconds to answer, as he kept glaring at the young scientist, annoyed by his sudden hesitation. He ended up looking away, taking his eyes back on the screen. “He didn't.” he retorted, shaking his head. “Psychogenic amnesia. He barely remembered what had happened.” he then explained further when he felt Kepler's questionning look on him.

The brunet knitted his eyebrows, and unwillingly glanced at the screen once again, before quickly taking his eyes away from it. He looked down, and took a deep breath, trying to remind himself that he was a scientist and that it was his job to help saving the world, but his attention was brought back to the present when a weak voice's rose up from the other side of the wall. Newt started shouting at them again, yelling himself hoarse, and wasn't about to stop soon. From where he was, Kepler saw a smirk spread across Janson's face.

“Tomorrow's probably gonna be--” he started, before being interrupted by a sudden fracas coming from behind them.

Janson frowned, and turned around, seeing nothing but the lab's door. Shouts were coming from the corridor, along with muffled bangs and thumps. “Let me in!” they suddenly heard a familiar voice scream. “What are you doing to him?!”

Pursing his lips, Janson took large steps toward the door before swinging it open. Two guards were trying to handle Thomas, as the brunet fought them with all his strenght, wildly throwing punches around him. He instantly stopped trashing when his eyes locked with Janson's, his lips curling into a snarl. “Where. Is. He.” he demanded, his order close to an animalistic growl. Janson simply smiled, trying to contain the hatred that made his blood boil, and answered that Newt would be back among his little group soon. His words would have probably been more believable if Newt's cries couldn't be heard from the lab behind him. Thomas tried to lunge at him, but was kept back by the guards. He didn't even pay attention to them, still glaring daggers at the older man in front of him.

“Take him back.” Janson ordered dismissively, before going back into the room, turning his back to Thomas without giving him another glance.

He ignored Thomas' threats as the brunet was dragged away from him, and closed the door behind him, the young man's shouts suddenly replaced by his friend's cries. He glanced at the screen one last time, seeing Newt hitting his fist against the floor and spilling blood all over the ground, before nodding to himself, satisfied. Kepler couldn't have been more right on this one, the two worked in pair. As soon as Isaac Newton broke, it would be over for Thomas.

* * *

 

The house, the warmth, the sun. The house, the warmth, the sun. Newt kept rocking back and forth, covering his ears, as if it could cover up the sound of his own memories. The house, the warmth, the sun. He felt sick to his stomach, and felt like he wanted to rip off his own skin.

“ _Newt?”_ a shaking voice called. _“Newt, come closer.”_

He opened his eyes, desesperately trying to see anything but the shadow in the corner of his memory. The house, the warmth, the sun. _“Please.”_ The voice came back, and he was suddenly standing in front of the crouching silhouette. He felt himself take a step forward, not having any control over his own body. He knew he wasn't himself, he knew he was just living up the memory of his child self, but he couldn't stop himself from trying to move, to do anything but get closer to the figure.

“ _Newt, call your father.”_ The warmth now seemed very far, as he stood there, shivering in the cold that had invaded the house through the broken window. As his vision got used to the darkness, he started to discern a figure laying in his mother's arms, and instantly knew his child self wasn't shivering from the cold.

“ _I don't know what happened... I...”_

His eyes flickered from the black veins on his mother's face to the child in her arms. He tried to take his eyes away from the petite figure laying completely still in his mother's arms, but it took him a few seconds to react, slowly processing what was going on, and these few seconds were enough for this image to carve itself in his head. The image of a little girl with hair as golden as the sun, and a skin colored in a pale shade of blue.

He felt a scream rising in his throat, and his body took a few steps backward on its own, before tripping and roughly hitting the ground.

Newt scrambled up to his feet in a second, but the two figures were suddenly nowhere to be seen. He was back in his dark cold room, in the facility. He felt his stomach twist, and choked up a sob, the realization that he had just lost a second time his family abruptly hitting him. Newt felt his legs giving out, and sank down to his knees. He felt the air being sucked out from his lungs, and opened his mouth, desesperately trying to catch his breath. The sob stuck in his throat finally broke out, as his face distorted with agony. He wrapped his arms around himself, the emptiness he had felt his whole life deep down suddenly stronger than ever. He was aching for anyone to hold him, to be there by his side. Newt felt a cry rip from his throat, and covered his face with his hands, desesperately trying to focus on anything but what he had just seen. The house, the warmth, the sun. He kept repeating it mentally, but the figures just wouldn't go away. The house, the warmth, the sun, the pale shade of blue. He forced his eyes shut, as if it would keep him from seeing the same color over and over again, unshed tears dropping onto his cheeks. He kept repeating the words in his head but the blue wouldn't leave his thoughts, and every time he thought about his list, it was back in it, waiting at the end of it to haunt him. He tried to think about the first memories, tried to think of the blanket, the snow, of anything. The house, the warmth, the sun, the pale shade of blue.

“ _Newt?”_

The house, the warmth, the sun, the pale shade of blue.

And the gun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels really weird, I have no idea why. I kinda struggled to write it because of all the memories and of the different point of views, and I feel like it's... i don't know, too vague I guess? I hope you enjoyed it anyway!  
> I'll try to post the last part this week, and, I swear, it will be less confusing than this part. I hope.


	3. Say goodbye to who I was

“Do you have trouble discerning reality from memories?”

There was another beat of silence, followed by a quiet sigh. Kepler looked down at the sheets between his hands, noticing the creases he had left on them. His hands were clutching at the papers, holding onto it for dear life. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he cleared his voice, and tried again. “Isaac? I need you to answer these questions.” Without any surprise, Kepler received another heavy silence in answer, and kept himself from letting out another sigh. Reluctantly, the young man looked up from his file, his eyes falling onto the hollow subject sitting in front of him. His breath got caught in his throat, as a feeling of guilt riddled him. Once again, he looked away, and closed his eyes for a second, trying to get a hold on his emotions. He hadn't expected this. He was used to all the crying, the weeping, and the lamenting, he even loathed it, and that made his job easier. He didn't know he would find himself sitting in front of a hollow boy, with dull eyes and an empty gaze. He almost missed the wailing.

Beside him, the brunet heard his colleague, Graham, put her blood pressure monitor down, before she harshly snatch the file from his hands. He gave her a questionning look, a slight frown upon his features because of the brutality he hadn't expected from her, but she simply made him a sign to get up from the stool in front of the subject's bed. His frown deeped in confusion, but, for once in his life, the arroguant, conceited young man found himself being intimidated by the slightly older woman, so, he obeyed without any protest. As he got up, she leaned toward him, her lips almost brushing against his ear. “If you're heartless enough to suggest this experiment, at least make sure you're strong enough to go through with it.” she wispered in a cold, severe tone. Kepler took a step back, staring back at her with wide, bewildered eyes, but, before he could even say something, the blonde scientist sat down and turned towards her patient, ending the short exchange. Kepler pursed his lips, and went to stand in the back of the room, staring at them intently.

Graham went through the file, and quickly scribbled down a few informations since she had just finished checking his virals. Once done, she took a deep breath, running a hand through her short messy blonde hair to get it away from her eyes, and looked at Newt, sitting on the edge of his bed. He was sitting with his shoulders slighty hunched, with his tired eyes devoid of emotion staring blankly into space. Just like Kepler a few minutes earlier, Graham found herself at loss for words, but kept herself from looking away. She had provoked this by not interfering enough, she would face the consequences, no matter how heartbreaking they were.

“Newt, do you hear me?” she started, in a soft, patient voice. “I need you to answer to these questions.”

He didn't even blink. It was like he was unaware of her presence. His eyes stayed glued on the wall behind her, his unfocused stare almost unsettling. “Please.” she added after a short silence, her voice almost begging. Instinctively, she made a move to grab his hand, but stopped herself in the last moment. She knew better than to touch a lethargic person who had just gone through a traumatic experience. She withdrew her hand, and tucked it under her leg as to keep herself from making a reckless decision again. Graham couldn't help herself, he seemed so lost and helpless, all she wanted to do was to take him in her arms and never let go. She had been assignated to him when his group had first gotten here. She knew how he used to be, she knew how much he didn't deserve any of this. The blonde just wished she could do anything to help him.

“... We need to send him back.” Kepler muttered after a few minutes, his voice quiet and almost apologetic. “We can't keep him any longer.”

Graham still didn't move, trying to catch Newt's eyes, desesperately waiting for any reaction from him. The blond kept his eyes glued on the wall behind her, his stare still as empty as earlier. She almost wished she could have seen some tears gathering on his eyelashes. She wanted to see him react, to do anything. Sadness was always better than emptiness.

After a moment, Kepler called her again, and the blonde would probably have gone off and shouted at him if she didn't hear what sounded like sorrow in his voice. She looked down, pursing her lips, and took a second to calm the fast beating of her heart. She then took a deep breath, and, expecting her voice to be shaking, simply nodded. Without a word, Kepler opened the door, and made a sign to the guards waiting in the corridors, silently asking them to take Newt back to his room. Graham watched as two guards entered the room to escort the young man out. He silently got up, and followed them without putting up any fight. Graham bit her lower lips, trying to keep in the sob stuck in her throat as she watched him leave. Her attention was brought back to Kepler when she noticed him going for the door, and her heartbroken expression instantly turned into a hateful one.

“See you in hell.” she spat, making him freeze with his hand still on the handle. Her words were dripping with hatred, and made him hesitate a second, before he shook his head, and walked out without another word.

Graham stared at the door for a few seconds, her anger slowly faltering and being replaced with sorrow. She dropped her head in her hands, closing her eyes. “... We're all going after this.” Graham muttered, knowing it was all over. Newt was way past saving.

* * *

The silence was back, and this time, the blonde scientist wasn't there to break it with her soft, quiet voice. Once again, Newt was on his own, sitting on the edge of Thomas' bed and staring into the emptiness. Everything was quiet, but everything felt so loud at the same time. He could still hear it all, still see it all, and everything felt too real. He should have probably answered to the man's last question earlier. He should probably have told him that, yes, he could discern reality from memories, but that his memories wouldn't leave him anymore. He had spent an entire week in a dark room hearing the voices of his family, and now they wouldn't leave him alone. Newt would have done anything to forget these memories. He would have climbed the maze's wall again, if it meant he'd stop seeing it all.

His gaze wasn't really unfocused. He wasn't lethargic, he was more than awake. He was looking at his mother, looking at the memories that wouldn't leave his thoughts. He tried thinking about the house, about the warmth, about anything else, but couldn't stop seeing the black veins on his mother's face, the pale color on his sister's cheeks.

“ _Newt?”_ he heard the shaking voice call him again. _“You're not afraid of me, are you?”_

He was looking at the black blood dripping from her chin, hearing the creaking of the wooden floor as she slowly crept towards him.

“ _This wasn't my fault. She pushed me on the edge, I lost control!”_ he put his hands over his ears, as if it would stop him from hearing the screeching voice in his brain. _“This wasn't my fault!”_

He was feeling the nails digging into his arms, the hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

“ _You can't tell your father, you won't. It wasn't my fault!”_ he could feel his limbs shaking violently, and only forced his eyes shut a little harder, until his eyelids started to hurt. _“Look at me!”_

He could hear the shouting, the hurried steps of him running away.

“ _You won't tell him!”_ the voice became louder and louder, getting closer to him. _“I won't let you!”_

He could feel the cold touch of metal against his skin, the trigger digging into his finger. He could hear his mother's shouts, his own sobbing.

And a single gunshot.

* * *

“You can't steal a guard's uniform, you shank.” Minho snorted. “We barely managed to fight them with the gladers by our side, that's the stupidest idea you ever had.”

Frypan rolled his eyes at his friends' rant, and walked a little faster, wanting to get to their room as soon as possible. He was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was to collapse on his bunk bed and never get up again. Plus, walking faster didn't only bring him closer to his bed, but also got him further from Thomas and Minho, and he now could barely hear their stupid rant. They were becoming a simple noise in the background, and that could only motivate him to walk even faster. He liked them, he really did, they were his friends after all, but they could both be really stubborn and, after the first five minutes, their arguments could become really annoying. He turned around a corner, and saw their door just a few meters away. Letting out a satisfied sigh just at the thought of getting into bed, Frypan slowed down a little, and put his hand on the handle, swinging it open.

He only had time to take a step into the room, before he saw him.

“... Newt?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

He was frozen, his hand still on the doorhandle as he stood by the doorstep. Frypan opened his mouth, but immediately closed it, at loss for words. He would have ran up to him and crushed him in a bear hug, if the first thing he had seen while entering the room hadn't been Newt's wide terrified eyes. He was now left standing awkwardly, while Newt stared back at him, completely still. Frypan now regretted his sudden entrance. The blond's frightened expression had quickly vanished, replaced by a blank stare, but Frypan felt like he had truly scared him for a second. After a few seconds, Newt finally moved, and quickly wiped some tears away from his cheeks with the back of his hand, snapping Frypan out of his thoughts. Unsure of what to do, he took a small step forward, and suddenly felt like he was slowly approaching a scared animal. Newt seemed apprehensive and jumpy, and nothing could have worried Frypan more. The blond was usually the calm, reasonable one. Something really bad must had happened for him to be this anxious.

“Newt...” he hesitated, his mouth suddenly too dry. “What happened?”

The blond got up, his legs slightly shaking under his weight, and opened his mouth, about to answer, when he changed his mind and pursed his lips, shaking his head. He knew that, as soon as he would try to talk, a sob would rip out of his throat. Frypan took another step, and was about to put his hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him without invading his personal space. He had only seen Newt in this state one time, and knew Alby was the only one who knew how to deal with it. The only thing he was sure about was that Newt needed space, and calm. Despite his instinct, Frypan kept himself from rushing over his poor friend, awkwardly standing there with tears in his eyes and no idea of what to do.

“Newt??”

Sadly, Frypan didn't have time to stop the two boys who flew past him, and could only wince as he saw them slamming into Newt, crushing him into a warm embrace. The blond would have been knocked over if his friends weren't holding him tightly, but, at that moment, Frypan was sure being knocked over would have been way better. “Guys.” he called them, helplessly watching the scene with apprehension. They didn't move from an inch, and neither did Newt. The blond didn't move at all, his arms still by his sides, shaking from every limb. “Guys!” Frypan shouted, a little more fiercely this time. Thomas gave him a questionning look, and Frypan reached them in a few steps before forcefully pulling them away from Newt. The boy staggered backwards, and Frypan helped him sitting down on the floor, keeping a hand on his shoulder. His breathing was heavy and rapid, as if he had been holding his breath. Newt forced his eyes shut, a hand pressed to his chest, and a few tears trickled down his cheeks, before landing on his shirt.

“Breath.” Frypan ordered, in a soft but strict voice. “Take a deep breath, come on.”

Newt shook his head, keeping his eyes closed, and Frypan could feel his shoulders, and probably whole body, shaking under his palm. If only Alby had been there. Minho was also supposed to know what to do, being one of the closest to the blond, but in the precipitation, he hadn't even noticed his state. A quiet moan escaped Newt's lips, drawing Frypan's attention back to him. The boy pursed his lips, deep in his thoughts, trying to remember what Alby used to do, when he felt someone kneel next to him. He turned his head, and saw Minho next to him, who answered to his questionning glance with a dismissing look. Frypan frowned, confused, but got up anyway and went to stand to a worried sick Thomas. “Newt, look at me.” Minho muttered, putting a hand on his shoulder. Relief washed over Frypan when he realized that his friend remembered what Alby did.

“Count with me,” he put his finger under Newt's chin and tilted his head to face him, but the blond kept his eyes closed, “come on you slinthead, look at me and count.”

Newt finally opened his eyes, meeting Minho's steady stare. The bulky boy started counting, and the blond reluctantly followed him, taking a deep breath at each number. He stumbled on some numbers, his breath stuck in his throat, but each time he started having difficulties again, Minho gripped his shoulder a little tighter to show him support, rubbing small circles with his thumb onto his arms. After a few minutes, Newt's breathing started to become steadier, and Frypan went to kneel next to Minho, quickly followed by Thomas, who still seemed a little off.

“Better?” Frypan asked with a faint, relieved smile.

The blond nodded, suddenly looking exhausted. Thomas scooted closer to him, and wrapped an arm around his waist, allowing him to rest his head on his shoulder. Newt seemed to hesitate for a second, still feeling like he needed as much space as he could get, before he gave in, and leaning onto him, embracing his warmth. Thomas felt his friend still slightly shaking against him, and knitted his eyebrows, rubbing his arms in a comforting manner. A comfortable silence settled between them, and, even though Newt knew they were waiting for an explaination, he waited with them, stubbornly keeping his mouth shut. He knew they wanted to know what had happened to him, and he knew he couldn't get away without giving them any answer, but he didn't want to tell them the truth. Like Thomas didn't have the heart to tell him if they would get their memory back the day before he was taken away; Newt didn't know if he had the heart to tell them that getting it back was worse than a nightmare. He didn't want to be the one to tell them their past wasn't worth being remembered. Deep down, Newt had always known it would be like that. If their present was terrible, why would their past be better? Their parents had lived in the same century, they had gone through the same misery.

“Newt?” Thomas whispered, snapping him out of his thoughts. “What happened to you?”

“Just a couple of exams,” Newt shook his head, feeling his friend's shirt rub against his cheek in the process, “nothing to worry about.”

“A couple of exams?” he heard Minho scoff, his voice hinting irritation. “Yeah, of course, that explains the panic attack.”

“They were painful.” Newt snapped, straightening up to glare at his friend properly.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Thomas exchange a skeptical look with Minho, and looked away, suddenly irritated. He couldn't put a finger on why he suddenly felt so annoyed, but he just was. He hated how they exchanged subtle looks, as if they were suspecting him of lying. Which he was. But that wasn't the point. “I'm tired.” Newt grumbled, leaving Thomas' side as he got up and went to climb his bunk bed. “Good night.” They all silently watched him leave, a dreadful feeling clenching their guts. They knew something was wrong. Something really bad had happened to Newt, and they could only watch helplessly as he isolated himself to suffer alone.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Thomas got up too, and dragged his feet to his bed right beneath Newt's. He knew it would be bad. He had heard Newt's cries when he had tried to break into the room, he had spent days expecting the worse, and yet, he definitely wasn't ready for this. Laying down into his covers, he put his arms under his head, staring at the back of the mattress above him. Once again, his bed felt too big, but, this time, he doubted he would ever get a peaceful night of sleep with Newt's head resting on his chest again.

* * *

Thomas was rarely right. And now that he knew what it was like, he never wanted to be right again.

For the three days that followed, Newt stayed on his level of the bunk bed, and Thomas stayed all alone in his bed. And, sadly, that wasn't the worse. Newt had become mute. He stayed silent all day, only giving short answer such as “yes”, “no”, and “Minho stop throwing food at Thomas”. Except for that, it was like talking to a wall. He usually nodded, and sometimes didn't even seem to aknowledge their presence. Sometimes, they could hear him muttering the same words over and over to himself, “the house, the warmth, the sun”, and, for some reasons, these words seemed to reassure him. He also looked worse than before, with dark circles under his eyes and an unusual pale skin. His friends had already talked about this once, and they all doubted he slept at night. This made Thomas feel even more useless, and he hated it. He wanted to help Newt, he wanted to be the one to make him feel better. These last days,he brunet had become even more protective of the young man than he already was.

That's why, during the night of the third day, when Thomas heard shuffling and moans above him, he immediately shot up, alert. The shuffling continued for a few seconds, and the brunet stayed still, hesitating. That was probably the first night of sleep Newt was getting, he didn't know if waking him up because of a nigthmare was a good idea. Plus, given Newt's behavior these last days, Thomas wasn't sure he would get a good reaction out of this. At one point, the shuffling completely stopped, and was replaced by a heavy silence. Thomas laid back down on his mattress, a sinking feeling of disappointment in his stomach. He barely had time to close his eyes, before a bloodcurdling scream erupted in the room, making him leap out of his bed and climb the ladder in a second.

“Stop,” Newt was trashing in his sleep, kicking the covers off his body, “please, no!”

Thomas grabbed his shoulder, keeping a hand on the railing not to lose his balance, and carefully shook him, trying not to wake him up too abruptly. Sadly, this didn't seem to faze the blond, who kept screaming and fighting against an invisible attacker, tears streaming down his face. Thomas felt his heart clench painfully at this sight, and let go of the railing, gripping both of his shoulders tightly and shaking him until Newt finally woke from his nightmare, his wide watery eyes meeting the brunet's. He abruptly moved back, crawling away from Thomas and kicking the covers off his body in the process, until he felt his back hit the wall. His eyes weren't even focused on Thomas, but he seemed like he was seeing something near him, and it terrified him. The brunet tried to put his hand on his arm to reassure him, but Newt jerked away from the touch, letting out a choked cry. The blond then brought a hand to his chest, clenching his shirt, and a look of realization flashed across Thomas' face. Newt was gasping for breath. He was having another panic attack.

“Newt, look at me.” he asked as he climbed into the bed, sitting at a reasonable distance from his friend. “Newt, I need you to count with me.”

From underneath the bed, he heard Frypan call Minho, but ignored them, keeping his attention on Newt. He wasn't looking at Thomas, and didn't even seem aware of his presence. He was looking down, gasping for for breath and clenching his chest. The blond let out a choked sob, and closed his eyes, shedding the tears that had been gathering on his eyelashes.

“Newt, count with me, please.” Thomas pleaded him, his voice starting to shake at the sight of his friend like that.

Newt shook his head, keeping his eyes shut, and covered his ears with his hands. Now, the brunet at least knew that he was aware of his presence, but he still felt like something was wrong. Newt didn't just seemed terrified, he seemed terrified of him. The blond choked out a breath, still suffocating, and Thomas didn't know what to do anymore. He stared helplessly at his friend, his eyebrows knitted together, trying to focus on what to do. He didn't hear Minho's shouts behind him, didn't hear Winston's worried questions, his eyes glued on Newt. And then suddenly, he remembered.

He had no idea from where he had this knowledge, but didn't even question it, and crawled towards Newt, before pulling him into a tight embrace. The blond started trashing around, kicking him and trying to get away from him, but Thomas kept a firm grip on him, holding him tightly against him. He winced as Newt started sobbing, his heart shattering into million of pieces when he heard his friend cry out for him to let him go.

“It's okay, you're okay.” Thomas muttered, shifting a little to tighten his hold on him. “You're safe.”

A few minutes went by, and Newt slowly stopped fighting him, letting himself go limp into Thomas' arms. He was still shaking and silently crying, but the brunet had managed to help him out of his panic attack. Thomas let out a relieved breath, and shifted to have his back against the wall, with Newt's head resting on his chest. He started lightly trailing his fingers along Newt's arm, waiting for him to stop shaking. From where he was on the upper bed, Thomas noticed Minho giving him a questionning look, standing in the middle of the room with Winston and Frypan. He dismissed them with a simple nod, and, while his other friends smiled at him and went back to bed, Minho stayed where he was, feet planted to the ground.

“What was that?” he asked harshly, a frown darkening his features.

Thomas understood his confusion, since the first thing to do while dealing with a panic attack was to give the person space and not crush them into a tight hug, but he still felt annoyed at his friend's simple question. Minho was acting wary, as if Thomas couldn't take care of Newt, as if he'd act recklessly when it came to the blond.

“Holding someone tightly depress their sympathetic nervous system. It slows their heart rate and metabolic rate.” he whispered back, in a deadpan tone.

Minho stared at him for a few more seconds, looking skeptical, but ended up nodding, disappearing under his bunk bed. Thomas rolled his eyes, before bringing his attention back to Newt. The blond was still leaning onto him, with his head resting on his chest, but wasn't shaking anymore. He was slowly coming back to his senses, and looked up, meeting Thomas' wide hazel eyes. He seemed to realize what had just happened, and looked away, until Thomas brought a hand to the blond's cheek, gently brushing a tear away with his thumb. Instead of withdrawing his hand, he kept it on his cheek, and Newt finally looked up, meeting the brunet's affectionate eyes. Their eyes locked, and the blond unconsciously leaned into the touch. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, the silence between them only disturbed by Newt's hard breathing, until a voice rose up in the dark.

“ _Newt? Newt, come closer.”_

Newt's breath got caught in his throat, as he suddenly sat up, his whole body stiffening. Thomas shot him a worried glance, and leaned towards him, about to ask him what was wrong, when the blond abruptly moved back, putting as much distance between him and the brunet as he could. A look of disappointment flashed across the brunet's face, before he quickly covered it by looking away. His friend obviously didn't want him here anymore. He had only been vulnerable for a few seconds after waking up from his nightmare, but it was now over, he had put his guards back up and Thomas had missed his chance. Letting out a sigh, Thomas was about to crawl back towards the ladder, when he was kept back by a hand around his wrist. He looked up, and saw that Newt had grabbed his wrist, but still wasn't looking at him. He arched an eyebrow, waiting silently for the blond to say something. After a few seconds, Newt glanced at him, and Thomas felt his stomach twist at the look of pure fear in his eyes. He couldn't be on his own, not tonight. He couldn't be left alone with these voices again.

“Could you...” Newt made a pause, pursing his lips.

A short silence settled between them, and Newt ended up tugging at his wrist instead of talking, making the brunet smile. “Yeah, I can.” Thomas replied fondly, carefully going to lay next to him. He left space between them, but could feel him shaking next to him. Thomas clenched his fist, trying to ignore how much he wanted to take Newt in his arms again.

He was so caught up in his thoughts he almost jumped up when he felt Newt's head on his chest. His breath got caught in his throat, and he had to take a second to get his heartbeat under control, a feeling of pure joy bubbling up inside of him. An affectionate smile spread across his face, as he brought up a hand to Newt's hair, slowly running his fingers through it. Letting out a satisfied sigh, Thomas closed his eyes, enjoying the relaxing sensation of Newt's heartbeat against him. He had truly missed this.

After a few minutes, he started drifting into sleep again, unaware of how stiff Newt was next to him, and how his tormented thoughts wouldn't leave him for the rest of the night.

* * *

“It's been three days.” Janson announced. “Three whole days, and we still have no result.”

Kepler looked down at his boss' pointed remark, fidgeting with the stack of papers between his hands. Janson looked more furious than he had ever been. He was usually really good at hiding his emotions and keeping a mask on. He always looked like everything was under control, but here, his stiff jaw and sharp eyes didn't fool anyone. Newt wasn't breaking yet, and it was nerve-racking.

“Maybe he just needs more time.” Kepler suggested.

“People needs time to heal, Kepler, not to die!” Janson retorted. “We need to do more.”

Kepler finally looked up, meeting his boss' thoughtful eyes. “What...” he croaked out, his throat suddenly feeling too dry. “What do you mean?” He didn't understand how they could do more. They had already messed up the subject's brain, and left unsupervised knives in the cafeteria, which was already really reckless and dangerous. If Isaac Newton wanted to do something, he would do it. Kepler couldn't see how they could torment the boy even more.

“I mean we need to give him more opportunities. I want him to be able to put his hand on anything that'd help him.” Janson concluded, “Wherever he goes, I want him to see death.”

This made the color drain from Kepler's face, as started feeling sick, his head spinning. He looked back down at his papers, trying to focus on his writing to regain his composure. He thought he'd be strong enough for this, he really did. He had always been a remarkable scientist because of his professionalism and ambition. He was one of the best, thanks to his lack of empathy, but it was always easier when he didn't have to do the follow up of these treatments. Graham was always the one who handled it. Kepler usually barely had contact with the pathetic wailing kids. Now, he had to not only do the follow up, but to force a kid down the path of depression, and he had never felt worse.

Taking a deep breath, the brunet closed his eyes for a second, slowly regaining his balance. He needed to get a grip on his emotions. He was a scientist, and he had to act like it. There was no going back, he was the one who suggested this and he had to take responsability of it. Looking back up, Kepler met Janson's severe glare. He was waiting for suggestions, and Kepler couldn't disappoint him. He couldn't be the one to break down.

“We can put a guard in front of their room, with his gun in evidence.”

Janson stared at him for a few more seconds, as if he was evaluating his suggestion, before a disgusting sneer spread across his face. “Good.”

* * *

 _"Come on!”_ Newt let out a sigh, and rolled on his back, putting even more space between him and Thomas. _“T_ _he storm's gonna be back in less than an hour, we don't have time to waste!”_ He forced his eyes shut and swung an arm over his eyelids. He felt his stomach clench, and pursed his lips when he felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He had been so naive. How could he think that Thomas' presence would make his night any different? The blond had now been laying down next to his friend for hours, and nothing had changed. Just like the other nights, he couldn't get his mind off his memories. Earlier this night, he had ended up falling asleep because of how exhausted he was, and now knew that sleeping was worse than spending his night staring blankly at the ceiling, hearing his sister's voice on repeat. Anything was better than being chased down by his infected mother, right after she had “accidently” ended his sister's life.

Newt couldn't believe that, for a second, he had thought he could be helped. When Thomas had laid down next to him, he had actually believed for a moment that things could go back to normal. He should've known he was hopeless. There was no going back, he had agreed to get his memory back and now he had to take responsability of it. He would never have a peaceful night again, and would have to relive the same nightmare every night. Even Thomas couldn't change that. He had no hope left.

It was all over as soon as he had gotten that vision of a blurry secluded house, and he knew it. The only thing that kept him going before was knowing that a better life was waiting for him out there, but now he couldn't keep denying the truth anymore. His present and past were real nightmares, why would his future be any different? He had had a family, and he had lost them all. With no future and no family, Newt could only watch himself slowly slipping back into the darkness that had never truly left him.

“ _Leave your mother alone, Newt. She needs to rest.”_

He frowned, and tried to focus on his other memories. _The house, the warmth, the sun._ As always, it worked for a while. He saw the snow, the sky, the sun, but, not even a few seconds, the voices were back. Before he even knew it, voices could be heard from the corridor, along with hurried steps and clicking noises, and the others started waking up one by one. Before Thomas could even open his eyes, Newt shot up, and climbed down from the bed, going to wait patiently by the door for the others to be ready to head for the showers. Thomas was next to get up, and offered him a broad smile as he went to wait next to him, making Newt clench his fists. He stiffened his jaw when he felt his friend pat his shoulder, but didn't say anything, knowing he had no right to get mad at him for this. He was messed up, it wasn't Thomas fault.

The entire morning went by in a blur, cadenced by the voices that wouldn't leave his brain. As usual, Newt stayed silent, trying to focus on anything but his memories. The only different thing was that Thomas had stopped treating him like a child. For days, they had been attached by hips, the brunet never letting him go anywhere alone, following him with these annoying wide sad puppy eyes of his. Newt never thought his friends finally leaving him alone would turn out to be a bad thing, but lunch proved him to be wrong.

“We need a plan.”

Newt kept himself from rolling his eyes, looking up from his plate to send a glare towards Thomas, who was sitting across from him at the lunch table. For a second, he found himself wishing they would still be asking him what had happened in the lab, but they had all moved on. Since Thomas had slept next to Newt, they all thought he was better. The blond hadn't slept more than two hours that night, and had spent the rest of it staring blankly at the ceiling, and yet, they all thought he was doing better just because in a moment of weakness he had let Thomas approach him.

That was supposed to be what Newt wanted. He wanted them to leave him alone, to stop pitying him so much. He couldn't bear these sympathetic looks they gave him anymore, and these pathetic tiny smile they offered him, as if they were saying “hang in there little guy”. He hated it when all of their focus was on him, but, now, Newt was realizing that them leaving him alone might be even worse, because that meant their minds were back into the theories about this facility.

“We need to find out where they are taking these people whose names are on the list.”

A low humorless chuckle escaped Newt's lips, but, fortunately, none of his friends seemed to hear it. The blond silently shook his head, trying to ignore how his jaw started to hurt from being clenched so much. Couldn't they understand already that they would never get anything better? There was no point in escaping this place, there was no point in fighting anymore. Newt hated how naive they were being. There was nothing but death outside, no hope, no love, nothing. Newt had seen what life outside was like, he had seen what his happiness used to be like, and he would never forget how it all ended up. He had no hope left, and he couldn't help himself but wish the others would just give up too already. They would all die one day, and the sooner would probably be the better.

“ _I think it's called the Flare.”_

The blond felt his hair bristle at the sweet, childish voice in his head, and his whole body stiffened. He forced his eyes shut for a second, pursing his lips. _Go away._ he thought to himself, as if he could talk to these voices.

“ _Newt, I'm scared.”_

The same quiet voice came back, and he clenched his fists a little more, his knuckles turning white. _Go away!_ he shouted back, trying to ignore the headache that was creeping up on him. By now, he was nothing but a bundle of nerves, shaking and screaming internally. He felt like he was about to explode. The emotions had been building up inside of him for too long, and he couldn't keep it in anymore. One more voice, and he'd probably give in.

“I already stole a guard's card, I can do it again.”

Newt really thought he'd have exploded by then, but with what little strength he had left, he managed to contain his rage, repeating the same words over and over in his head like a mantra. _The house, the warmth, the sun._ He didn't even notice the low growl that clawed its way up his throat, and didn't manage to stop the words from leaving his mouth. “Leave it alone already.”

For a second, the blond foolishly thought his friend wouldn't hear him, until Thomas turned his head toward Newt, his eyebrows knitted in confusion. The blond simply stared back at him, his knee jittering under the table, and, unaware of the beast he was about to unleash, Thomas asked him to repeat what he had just said.

“I said,” Newt hissed through gritted teeth, leaning towards him, “leave it alone.”

The table went silent, as all the heads turned towards him. Newt spared a quick glance towards his friends, almost rolling his eyes at how flabbergasted they looked. After days of silence, they hadn't expected him to explode like that. They didn't know how tormented he was. They saw the sadness, the sorrow, but they didn't hear the voices, they didn't see the black veins, they had no idea of how he felt himself becoming closer and closer to insanity each day.

Thomas frowned, retorting that they couldn't “leave it alone”, his words dripping with irritation. Minho shot him a surprised glance, as well as the rest of the table. They could probably count on his fingers the number of times he got angry at Newt. Plus, with what had happened these last days, Thomas had been extremely patient and sweet to the blond, but, when it came to WCKD, the brunet could be really short-tempered. They all jumped on their seat when Newt abruptly shot up, slamming his hands on his trail.

“Don't you understand this is probably better than anything we'll ever get?! There's nothing waiting for us outside, Thomas!” he made a pause, suddenly aware of all the attention he was getting. Looking down, he let out a breath, and resumed in a lower, quieter voice. “Nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

Another short silence settled at the table, as Newt kept his eyes on his trail, feeling his heartbeat starting to slow down, his breathing getting steadier. He shook his head, about to apologize, when it came back.

“ _Newt?”_

The voice of his nightmares, the voice that would never leave him. He forced his eyes shut, and, as usual, tried to cover the vision of his mother by the memory of the snowy landscape, but Thomas' voice brought him back to reality.

“Newt, why are you saying that?”

He opened his eyes, his glance falling on the brunet, who was staring back at him with worry.

“ _You're not afraid of me, are you?”_

Black veins started crawling up Thomas' neck, and his pupils became darker, almost pitch black. Newt's breath got caught in his throat, and he opened his mouth, but no words left his throat. He shook his head and closed his eyes, mentally repeating to himself that this wasn't real.

“What's wrong?? Newt, look at me.”

“ _Look at me!”_

Without another word, Newt turned around and stormed out of the cafeteria. He heard Thomas call after him, but kept rushing away from them as if his life depended on it. He needed to get away from him, he needed to get away from everything. As he rushed through the differents corridors, the voices started calming down, slowly fading away. This time, he didn't try to think about his old memories, about the house, the warmth, or the sun, and just focused on his quick steps against the hard metalic floor. He knew he couldn't use these anymore. His memories had been ruined, his mantra was now totally gone. He used to think of these memories to reckon the intense feeling of happiness he had felt back then, but, now that he knew how it ended, they didn't help him anymore. He was hopeless.

Newt slowed down his pace around a corner, knowing he was getting closer to his room. He didn't even know if he was allowed to go back there at that time of the day, but he didn't care. He just needed to get away. At the sight of a guard posted right next to their door, the blond stopped in his track, frozen. The man had his back to him, but he knew that, as soon as he'd get near him, the man would hear him and make him go back to the cafeteria. He let out a quiet sigh, feeling the weight on his shoulder getting even heavier. He pursed his lips, looking back up, when his eyes fell onto the guard's holster.

_He just needed to get away._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I had to add another part. I really thought this story would only take three parts, but I still had a lot to write and this part was already getting really long, so... yep, I'm sorry, it's still not finished.  
> I'll try to post the last part by the end of the week. I hope you enjoyed this one!


	4. There ain't language for the things I've seen

“Newt, wait!”

Thomas watched Newt disappear into the corridor, letting out a defeated sigh. He turned his head to glare at Minho, and harshly shrugged off the hand that had kept him back from going after his friend. He took a quick glance over his shoulder, wondering for a second if he could still follow Newt, but let out a frustrated groan when he saw nothing but a few guards hovering among the tables. The brunet looked back at Minho, taking a threatening step toward him. “Why did you stop me??”

His friend gave him an unimpressed look, and didn't say anything, staring him down until Thomas looked away, realizing his outburst had been uncalled for. He had no right to shout after his friend, and, even without knowing why yet, knew that he had probably done the right thing by keeping him from going after Newt. He just couldn't help himself, he had been really impulsive and fidgety these last days. Newt was supposed to be the glue, to be the calm one who brought them together, but now that he was breaking down, the warm feeling of calm he always spread among the group was slowly fading away, leaving his hot-headed friends alone to deal with their reckless temper.

“You need to let him blow off some steam,” Minho explained, sitting back down at the table, “you've been following his every step for days, you shank. No wonder why he ended up going off on you.”

The brunet ignored Frypan's snicker, and looked away, suddenly very embarrassed by his own behavior. He knew he had acted really protectively towards Newt these last days, always making sure he was alright and never leaving him for too long, but he didn't think everyone had noticed. Tilting his head down to hide the slight blush that had crept onto his cheeks, he went to sit back down across from Minho. “Honestly, I don't know how he managed to stay calm this long, I would have exploded right at the first day.” he smirked, earning another glare from Thomas.

“Maybe you should still go check on him in ten minutes. Newt has been weird since he's been back, he shouldn't be left alone for too long.” Winston suggested hesitantly. “I would've done it but...”

Minho nodded, cutting him short in his rant, and told him he would do it. He understood that, even though they were technically friends, Winston wasn't close enough to Newt to help him through a crisis like this one. He brought his attention back to Thomas, and saw that his friend was still tensed, with his jaw stiffened and his eyes unfocused. He nudged his knee under the table, making him look back at him, and gave him a reassuring look. Thomas answered with a faint smile, giving him a grateful nod. They were about to start to listen again to the conversation Frypan and Winston were having beside them, when Thomas noticed someone standing by the table, awkwardly waiting to have their attention.

“... Do you need something?” he asked, bringing his friends' attention to the young man.

He had brown hair and dark, circled eyes. From what Thomas remembered, his name was Aris, and he had been here the longest. The brunet seemed to be caught off guard for a second, before regaining his composure, clearing his throat before speaking in a quiet, hoarse voice.

“I'm sorry, I was watching, and,” he made a pause, crossing his arms uncomfortably, “I should've come to talk to you about it earlier but I didn't know...”

He was cut in the middle of his rant by Minho, who asked him to go straight to the point. His voice wasn't severe or rude, just sharp, showing the brunet it wasn't the moment and he needed to express his thoughts more quickly. Aris rubbed his neck, and resumed that he couldn't really explain it to them right now, but that he had heard some scientists talking about their friend. “Isaac Newton, that's right?” he finished, unsure.

“Newt.” a voice corrected him sharply. He looked up, meeting Thomas' steady stare. He had definitely caught his attention with these last words. This unsettled Aris for a second, who spluttered a quick “oh, right, sorry.”, but Thomas just shrugged it off, asking him to continue. At the moment, he couldn't care less about Newt's name, he had just corrected Aris out of habit, and he couldn't wait another second to know what made Aris so nervous. He had a dreadful feeling creeping up his stomach, and the tensed silence that settled between them as the young man struggled to find his words only made it worse.

“They said he was close to breaking.” he ended up saying, riddled with the guilt of not telling them earlier.

“Close to breaking?” Minho echoed, frowning.

Aris shrugged sheepishly, admitting that he didn't really know what it was supposed to mean, but that Newt probably shouldn't be left alone. The brunet had no idea what the scientists were talking about, but, given the ominous tone the man had used and the anxiousness in his colleague's eyes, he knew it could only mean something bad was gonna happen. Minho glanced at Thomas, hoping his friend could enlighten him, but the brunet wasn't looking at him. His eyes were unfocused, he seemed to be deep in thoughts, slowly realizing something. “They want him to break...” he mumbled to himself, a frown slowly appearing upon his features.

Minho got a sinking feeling in his stomach, as realization slowly began to dawn on him. They had taken Newt away for a week, and the bulky boy didn't know what they had done to him, but, given the sleepless nights and the panic attacks, it must had been bad. They had tortured him mentally in hope to see him break, and now they were only waiting for him to act.

“Do you think--” Minho started, but instantly stopped when Thomas suddenly shot up from his seat, darting towards the corridor Newt had just disappeared in.

The brunet barely heard his friend calling after him, too focused on joining Newt the quickest way possible. He ran through the different corridors, going so fast the whole world around him was in a blur. He heard Minho's footstep right behind him and only went faster until his legs starting to ache. He had never run so fast in his entire life, not even in the Maze. He felt like he was running for his life, running for Newt's life.

They had almost reached their room, only a few corridors away, when two guards suddenly got in front of them, making them come to an abrupt halt. The two heavily build men took the whole corridor, leaving Thomas and Minho no space to flee past them. “Where are you going like that??” one of them barked, taking a threatening step toward them. Thomas sent Minho a sideways glance, and they exchanged a sharp nod, agreeing on the same reckless idea. Clenching his fist, Minho was about to lunge at the guard on his side of the corridor, when a grenade suddenly flew past him, hitting the man right in the chest. The two friends watched, astonished, as the guard got shocked by electricity, before collapsing to the floor. They both turned around at the same time, their eyes falling onto the blond scientist Thomas had assaulted back in the cafeteria, holding a launcher between her hands. Her eyes flickered from the other guard still standing up to them a few times, before aiming her gun toward the man, while shouting at them to go.

“I'm keeping him here,” she added when they didn't move from an inch, “go save Isaac!”

Thomas gave her a thankful nod, and took off running in the opposite direction, painfully aware that the few seconds he had just lost may have been Newt's last ones.

* * *

“ _Newt, I'm scared.”_

Staring down at the gun between his hands, Newt took a deep, shaky breath, and closed his eyes, feeling tears dropping from his eyelashes to trickle down his cheeks. He clenched his fist around the weapon, ignoring the uncomfortable touch of cold metal against his skin. He needed to do this. He had to. He couldn't keep on going, it had to end. He was so tired, exhausted of fighting all the time. Fighting the grievers, fighting creators, fighting his depression, fighting against his own memories. He couldn't do it anymore. He had spent his entire life running away, and his lungs were on fire. He wanted to stop hearing these voices, he wanted to be left alone, everything was too much and he needed it all to stop. He winced as he felt the trigger digging into his finger. It all felt too familiar.

He was barely hearing the guard banging against the door, not lucid enough to wonder why the door had been locked. If his thoughts had been coherent, he would have understood. He would have realized Janson had asked for the door to be locked, he would have known the older man had gotten him exactly where he wanted him. But, at that moment, Newt's thoughts were too wild, too charged in emotions for him to form a coherent train of thought. Inside his mind, the different voices of his family were swirling madly, and, as much as he tried to think about what had kept him going until now, the vision of the pale shade of blue wouldn't leave his head. He tried to think about Alby, Minho, about the Glade and about every friend he had lost in the battle. He tried to think about Thomas, about his lazy smile and tired half-lidded eyes, about his fingers softly running along his arm, about his strong arms holding him tightly, but nothing could overcome the haunting memories. Newt opened his eyes, looking back at the gun between his shaking hands. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, and tried ignoring the icy fear that twisted his stomach. He was scared senseless. Newt couldn't deny the fact that he was terrified of death, even after years in the Glade, but he was terrified even more of keep on living with this past. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the weapon, placing it against his temple. He pursed his lips, looked up at the ceiling, and, for a second, everything was silent. The voices were gone, the banging on the door seemed to have stop for an instant, even his own breathing had never been so quiet. He closed his eyes again, and let out a long breath. He had known all along it would end up this way. The house, the warmth, the sun, the pale shade of blue, and the gun.

“Newt!” he froze, his attention drawn to Thomas banging on the door. “Put it down, please!!”

His breath got caught in his throat, as he slowly lowered the gun, his eyes going unfocused.

 

“ _Newt?” her voice was shaking as she called him. “You're not afraid of me, are you?”_

_The young boy took a step backward, feeling sick. He was shaking from every limb, but couldn't tear his wide, frightened eyes away from his mother, watching cautiously every single move she made. She slowly got up, leaving his sister's body on the floor behind her, and took a threatening step toward him. He kept moving back, trying to put as much distance between them as possible, but, every time he moved back, she made another step forward, the wooden floor creaking under her weight as she crept toward him._

“ _This wasn't my fault. She pushed me on the edge, I lost control!” she screamed, her lips curling in a snarl. “This wasn't my fault!”_

_She suddenly lunged forward, and, before he could react, grabbed him, holding his arms painfully. He could feel her nails digging into his skin, and let out a quiet moan. The little boy asked her to let him go, barely managing to articulate his words through his sobs. Hot tears were prickling at the corners of his eyes, and his vision was so blurry he could barely see her, but he could still discern the thin black lines drawn on her pale neck._

“ _You can't tell your father, you won't. It wasn't my fault!” she shouted, spitting black blood onto his face, making him turn away from her_. _“Look at me!”_

_She let go of his arms and withdrew her hand, about to slap him, leaving him enough time to take off running in the opposite direction. He ran through the corridor, almost tripping over his own feet a few times, before finally reaching a bedroom. He closed the door behind him, and used his own body as a barricade, hearing someone slam against it only a few seconds after. She started kicking and scratching the wooden door, yelling herself hoarse._

“ _You won't tell him!” the boy looked around him hastily, not able to see anything but blurred silhouettes because of the tears filling his eyes. “I won't let you!”_

_She started punching the door with more strength, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold her any longer. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on what to do, when he remembered his father's words. Opening his eyes again, he quickly scanned the room before his glance landed on a chest of drawers. He ran towards it, hearing the door burst open only a second after, and opened the bottom drawer, before hurriedly grabbing its content._

“ _What are you doing?”_

_He turned around slowly, eyeing the person before him. Despite the black blood that was still dripping from her chin, she suddenly looked more human. Her wide, startled eyes weren't dark and filled with hatred anymore, and she didn't seem as restless as before, scratching anything that would come under her hand._

_She took a step towards him, and he instinctively moved back, aiming the gun in her direction. He was still shaking, holding onto the gun for dear life. He could feel the cold touch of metal against his skin, and winced as the trigger digged into his finger. His mother took a step back, frightened, and a few tears dropped from her eyelashes, trickling down her cheeks. “Newt, put it back.” she whispered in a severe tone. He started lowering the gun, his face creased in agony. He was about to let go, when his glance fell back onto the corridor. From where he was, he could still see a part of the living-room. The blanket on the ground, right in front of the radio, a chair, and the crumpled form of his sister, laying dead in the corner of the room._

_His mind went blank, and when he looked back at his mother, he couldn't see her brown eyes anymore. He could see nothing but the black veins on her neck and the scratches on her hands. He couldn't hear her pleads anymore, couldn't hear her shaking voice, couldn't hear anything but his father's words._

_His mind was filled with the same words, repeating themselves over and over again: never the legs, aim for the head. He closed his eyes, felt the trigger digging a little further into his finger._

“ _Newt, put it down, please!”_

_And a single gunshot echoed._

* * *

“Newt, please, I,” Thomas banged another time on the door, but Newt didn't even flinch, “I...”

The words got caught in his throat, and he let out a ragged breath, letting his forehead hit the door window. He wished he could tell him, he wished he was able to let these simple words out, but he didn't have the strength. He banged again on the door, putting so much strength in it he was almost punching the glass. He could see him through the door window and it drove him insane. He could only witness as Newt held a gun pressed against his temple, having his back to him. Apart from his shaking hands, the boy wasn't moving from an inch, and didn't seem totally aware of their presences. He banged on the door once again, helpless, when he heard Minho telling him to move back. He stepped aside, watching as Minho took a few steps back, proceeding to break the door down.

“Minho, you can't--” Thomas tried to stop him, knowing his friend was more likely to bust his shoulder than knock the door down.

“I won't stand there watching until these shanks open this door.” the bulky boy grunted back.

That's when Thomas finally saw it: the distress in Minho's eyes. He had been so focused on his own dismay that he hadn't noticed how it also affected his friend. His breathing was heavy, his shoulders tensed, and the brunet was almost sure he could see some tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. He had never seen Minho putting so many emotions on display. He was usually the smug one, always unaffected, and seeing him like that made Thomas' stomach twist. He tended to forget Minho had known Newt for way longer than him. The brunet didn't know this wasn't the first time his friend was dealing with this kind of situation.

Minho abruptly threw his shoulder against the door, which remained completely intact. He took a few steps backward again, and violently slammed his body against the metallic door. “Why won't they open this damn door?!” Minho growled, as he kept throwing his shoulder repeatedly against the door. “Open it!!”

He kept putting more and more strength into it, grunting in pain at each hit, until Thomas joined him, slamming his body against the door with him. The asian boy stumbled back a little at the chock, and turned his head to look at Thomas in disbelief. The brunet gave him a quick nod, as to tell him he wasn't alone, and went back, wincing as his shoulder violently hit the cold surface of the door. They kept hitting the door until they couldn't feel their shoulder anymore, often throwing quick glances at Newt through the window. He was still in a daze, but seemed to be shaking even more than before. He was still holding the gun tightly, but had slightly lowered his hand.

“Hold on, Newt!” he slammed his body against the door again, before shouting again, yelling himself hoarse. “Don't give up on me, don't you dare give up on me!”

* * *

“Hold on, Newt! Don't give up on me, don't you dare give up on me!”

Newt gasped, suddenly out of his daze. He inhaled deeply, feeling like he had just emerged from underwater, and it took him a few seconds to get his breathing back under control. His eyes were still unfocused, the same words replaying over and over in his head, and, even though he had just emerged, the voices coming from outside were still muffled and distant, as if he was still underwater, diving into his own memories. He had never felt so hollow. The pain was gone, along with the anger, the joy, the anxiousness. He had no reason to feel bad anymore, no reason to grip onto that gun so tightly, and yet, he had never felt worse. Pain was nothing compared to numbness.

Newt absent-mindedly applied a little more pressure onto the trigger. He could barely hear the loud banging on the door, or his friends' screams. He could barely hear his own heavy breathing, and barely heard himself as he mumbled the few words that had driven him insane.

“Never the legs, aim for the head.”

He lifted the gun, closed his eyes.

And a single gunshot echoed.

* * *

They almost didn't hear it. They were once again lunging toward the door, when the gunshot had echoed barely a second before they finally knocked the door down. It went slamming against the wall, creating a loud noise, and they both froze, wondering if it had been a fragment of their imagination. For a second, they foolishly hoped they were right. They believed they had broken the door down and had arrived just in time. Newt's collapsing form left no room for doubt.

Thomas immediately rushed into the room, acting on instinct. He didn't think for a second about how scared he was of what he was gonna see, didn't think about how Newt's blank eyes would haunt him until the end of his life, didn't think about the blood he would get on his hands would never truly leave him, and about how he would spend hours scraping his skin until it turned red. All he thought about at that moment was that Newt was in danger, and he wanted to be by his side, no matter the cost.

He slid down to his knees and caught Newt as the blond fell down to his knees. He pulled him to lean against his chest, wasting no time to check for any injury. He could see no wound, but kept frantically looking for any blood, roaming his eyes over his friend's body ceaselessly. Nothing seemed to indicate an injury, and yet, Thomas was sure he had heard a gunshot. He took a quick glance at his surroundings, suddenly noticing the gun at his feet. From behind him, Minho called him and pointed at the impact on the opposite wall. A tidal wave of relief washed over him, as he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, feeling the pressure in his lungs falter. A single tear slid down his cheek as he unconsciously tightened his hold on Newt, kicking the gun away from them. He could feel Newt's shaking body against his chest, and pursed his lips, his heart breaking to pieces.

“Never do that again.” he whispered, his voice hoarse from all the screaming. “Please.”

Newt didn't answer. He kept staring into space, his eyes painfully hollow. The pain was gone, along with everything else. Thomas wished the blond was crying. For once in his life, he wished his friend was bailing his eyes out. Being in pain was better than not caring at all, nothing was scarier than knowing Newt didn't value his life at all. Facing death hadn't managed to bring a single tear to his eyes. Thomas pursed his lips, the thought of it making his stomach twist. “You can't do this to us,” Thomas choked out, weaving his hand into the blond's hair as he cradled his head, “please.”

He knew he was being selfish. He was asking Newt to live for him. He was putting another weight on his shoulder, giving him more responsabilities, making him think he had to be there for him, but all of it was true and at that moment Thomas couldn't bring himself to lie. He couldn't pretend he wasn't terrified at the thought of losing Newt, he couldn't even stop his own hands from shaking as he held the blond close to him.

“I...” he made a pause, and closed his eyes, “I care about you too much.”

The words still wouldn't get out of his throat. He was a coward.

“I killed her.”

Thomas opened his eyes, looking back at Newt. The blond still wasn't looking at him, clenching the tissue of the brunet's shirt into his fist.

“I killed my mother.”

Newt finally looked up, his gaze meeting Thomas' distraught eyes. The brunet kept staring at him with his mouth agape, at loss for words, barely acknowledging as Minho shot up to take a look around the corner, before quickly coming back in. “We need to leave, they're coming.” he hurried them, already helping Newt to get up on his feet. Thomas immediately got up after him, not even because Minho had asked him to but because he wanted to stay as close to Newt as he could, and he only realized how pathetic it was as he snaked an arm back around his friend's waist to support him. “Enough with the touching, Thomas, we need to go.”

The brunet glared at him, and his friend had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. He didn't have time to be exasperated. He rushed to the door, and was about to dart down the corridor, quickly followed by the two other, when he stopped dead in his track right in front of the doorway. Thomas bumped into him, and took a step back, about to ask him what he was doing, when he met Janson's eyes over Minho's shoulder. He was standing in the middle of the corridor, surrounded by a few guards, right in front of Minho seemed ready to pounce at Janson at any moment. “What happened in here??” the older man asked, his voice laced with fake concern.

Minho saw right through him, and he growled back that he knew exactly what was happening, his lips curling in a snarl. He took a step forward, clenching his fist. “What did you do to him?” he barked, stopping to stand beside Minho. Janson gave him an unimpressed look, and calmly asked him to step aside, ignoring his question. “We're gonna need to take Isaac with us.” he added when the young man didn't move from an inch.

Minho clenched his jaw, narrowing his eyes. “I'd like to see you try.” he smirked, withdrawing his fist. He was about to punch him when he felt a hand grab his arm, keeping him back. He glanced at Thomas over his shoulder and caught his eyes. “Don't keep me from doing this.”

“Trust me,” Thomas let go of his arm, took a step in front of Minho, “I won't.”

In an instant, Thomas' fist collided with Janson's jaw, and all hell broke loose. As Janson stumbled back, a guard grabbed Thomas' arm, before being punched by Minho. The other guard joined in the fight, and, unlike the week before, it didn't take them long to stop them both. The guard that had been trying to open the door before helped one of them to handle Thomas, kicking him in the legs to put him down on his knees. Before he even knew it, Thomas was laying down on his stomach, a knee on his back to keep him down, while Minho was being held back in an armlock.

“Thomas!”

He looked up, meeting Newt's distressed eyes as a guard grabbed his shoulder, trying to pull him the other way. “Don't touch him!” he growled, trying to get up and feeling the guard's knee painfully digging into his back, right between his shoulder blades. He heard Minho shout curses at Janson beside him, trashing against the hands gripping his arms, and looked back at Janson. This one already had his back to them, walking away while the third guard dragged Newt along despite his shouts.

“I know what you did, Janson!” Thomas yelled, watching him stop dead in his track. “You really think I don't know what happened here? He remembers his mother. You gave him his memory back, and for whatever reason, you wanted him to die.”

Janson stayed still for a few seconds, clenching and unclenching his fists in a vain attempt to keep his nerves under control. A deafening silence had settled in the corridor, only disturbed by the pantings. Even Minho had stopped fighting the man holding him in an armlock, staring at Janson breathlessly. The older man took a deep breath, his head hanging low, before reluctantly turning around, giving Thomas an irritated glare. A smirk crept over the brunet's face. He knew he had the upper hand on this one. He felt the pressure on his back lessen, and pushed it away, getting up with a smug look on his face. “I know what you did,” he repeated, taking a step forward, “And, sooner or later, the truth will come out, Janson. Take Newt away from me, and that day will come a lot faster than it should have.”

They kept staring at each other for a few seconds, as if they were trying to read each other's thoughts. The tension was thick, and everyone was waiting to see who would make the next move. A sly smirk spread across Janson's lips, and he let out a low chuckle, slightly shaking his head. Thomas frowned, taken aback, and exchanged a quick glance with Newt, unsure of what was going to happen.

“Let him go, Garrett.”

The man shot him a dumbfounded glance, but let go of Newt nonetheless. The blond instinctively took a few steps away from the man, before stopping, his eyes flickering between Minho and Thomas. After a few seconds, he ducked down his head and went straight into the room, before sitting down on the ground with his back against a bed, his knees drawn to his chest and his head tucked into his arms. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to stop existing, but was afraid to die. Nothing made sense anymore and everything felt wrong. He just wanted it to stop.

Newt wanted nothing more than to run and jump right into Thomas arms, but at the same time, he wanted nothing more than to be left alone and never touched again. He wanted to hold Thomas hand and intertwine their fingers, but also wanted to bury himself into the ground and never come out again. The thought of kissing his friend obsessed him, but it still couldn't drown out the thought of picking up that gun again and putting his finger back on the trigger. Newt wanted to love, but wasn't ready to live.

“Can you leave us alone for a second?” he heard Thomas quietly ask Minho in the corridor.

He felt trapped. That was the word. Trapped. And it felt even more terrible now that he had found the right word because he didn't want it to be that, but that was the truth and the truth was never pleasant. He had had more unpleasant truths than pleasant ones lately. Alby was gone, unpleasant truth. He was depressed, unpleasant truth. He had tried to kill himself twice, unpleasant truth. He wanted to do it again, unpleasant truth. He was too much of a coward to go through it, still unpleasant. Maybe it was just how life was, maybe everyone felt that way and he was just too weak to handle it. He had already thought about that a lot. About how maybe he wasn't that different from everyone. Maybe everyone felt this bad all the time, maybe it was normal. Perhaps sometimes some people just weren't strong enough to handle it, and he was just some of these people. But it felt even more terrible to think that this was supposed to be normal, so Newt liked to ignore it. It was probably better to think he was one of a kind than to think his friends and the entire world was just as screwed up as he was.

“Are you alright?”

He turned his head to his side, still with his cheek resting against his folded arms, and met Thomas' wide doe eyes. They weren't filled with worry as he would have expected. They were just soft, affectionate, and he could only discern a hint of concern sparkling into his dark irises. The blond nodded absent-mindedly, gazing lazily at the brunet despite the storm that was going on inside his head. He felt like Thomas was his anchor. As soon as his eyes landed on him, every thought he had would quiet down, replaced by a lazy, comforting silence. Without any word, Thomas scooted closer to him, and carefully wrapped an arm around Newt, as if he feared he would scare him off. He looked back at the blond, and met his steady gaze, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks.

Thomas cared about him, pleasant truth.

“I'm sorry.” Newt said after a few minutes of silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

Thomas glanced at him, but kept his mouth shut, knowing there wasn't a single word that would make it alright. He had no right to be upset over this, but he was also terrified at the thought of what could have happened if they hadn't been there soon enough. The brunet didn't know how he was supposed to feel, how he could answer, so he didn't say anything, and tightened his hold on Newt.

“I really am.” he added after a few seconds, with the faintest evidence of a restrained sob in his voice.

“Stop apologizing.” Thomas scolded, and then resumed with a softer, lower voice. “Thank you for holding on. Thank you for not giving up on me.”

Newt pursed his lips, and pulled one arm out, his cheek still resting on the other, grabbing Thomas hand and intertwining their fingers. The brunet watched him affectionately as the blond kept his eyes on their hands. His gaze was focused as he slowly rubbed circles with his thumb on the brunet's hand, and Thomas felt like he was melting. A warm feeling of happiness was spreading inside him and he felt like the incident from not even five minutes earlier had never happened. After a few moments, Newt looked back up, their eyes locking.

“I love you.”

He didn't mean to say it.

The words naturally flew out of his mouth, and he barely had time to register what he had said before Newt let go of his hand as if the touch had just burned him.

“I'm sorry, I,” he felt his heart clench and his throat was suddenly too dry, “I don't know why I...”

He barely noticed as Newt's eyes went unfocused.

 

“ _Breath, Newt, come on.”_

_The blond took another deep breath, running a hand through his hair in a distressed way. “I can't, Thomas, I can't go, I don't wanna go to the Maze.” he cried out, before his breath got caught up in his throat again. He tried to inhale, but he couldn't swallow back the lump in his throat, and fell on his knees, bringing a hand to his throat. He was suffocating, he felt like he was being choked and he couldn't do anything to stop it._

“ _Newt, you need to calm down, please.”_

_The blond closed his eyes and shook his head, knowing his friend's encouraging words wouldn't lead him anywhere. After another try, he finally managed to inhale, but a heavy exhalation quickly followed, and his erratic breathing was suddenly back. He felt tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, and unintentionally let out a choked sob, his hands still on his throat. Newt started feeling lightheaded, on the brink of unconsciousness, when two strong arms suddenly circled him. He tried to wriggle out of the hold at first, purely instinctively, but Thomas had a strong grip on him, almost crushing him into his embrace. After a few seconds, Newt stopped fighting it, and let himself lean into the hold, barely noticing as he slowly got control back over his breathing. He let his head rest against Thomas' shoulder, and felt himself calm down without even realizing why. After a few minutes, Newt felt Thomas loosening his grip on him, and turned around, pulling him into an embrace._

“ _Thank you.” he croaked out, his shoulders still slightly heaving with every ragged breath._

“ _It's nothing.” Thomas' voice was quiet and soft, as if he was treating Newt like the most fragile thing on Earth, and the blond didn't know yet if he hated it or not. “Teresa showed me how to calm someone down from a panic attack in case you ever had another one.”_

“ _Thanks.” Newt repeated, his voice muffled by the tissue of the brunet's shirt._

_Newt was still shaking a little, and Thomas started rubbing his arms to warm him a little. The room was cold as usual, they never really used any heater in the facility, the weather had never really required one. Thomas shifted a little to have his back resting against a bed, Newt's head still resting on his shoulder. A comfortable silence settled back between them, and Thomas found himself unconsciously closing his eyes a few times._

_At some point, Newt's breath slowed down a little, and the weight on Thomas' shoulder felt heavier. The brunet was convinced his friend had just fallen asleep. He glanced down at him, a soft smile spreading across his lips at the sight of Newt's cute frown he even wore while sleeping. He carefully brushed a few blond strands away from his friend's eyes, and his hand lingered for a few more seconds than necessary on his cheek._

“ _I love you.”_

 

“I really don't know why I said that, it's not the moment and I--”

Thomas' frantic words were lost on his lips when Newt's lips crashed onto his. The brunet was taken aback and it took him a few seconds to respond to the kiss, bringing a hand up to gently cup Newt's face. The blond melted into the touch, deepening the kiss, when Thomas pulled Newt into his laps, snaking an arm around his waist to hold him tightly against his chest. The brunet felt Newt smile against his lips, and instantly knew it was now probably his favorite feeling in the whole world.

After a few seconds, Newt pulled back to look at him, his eyes soft and affectionate. He looked so calm and at peace, Thomas had never seen him like that since the Glade. He never wanted to see Newt's eyes stop glinting like that, and would do anything for him to keep that soft smile that spread across his lips.

“I love you too.”

His voice was barely above a whisper, but Newt immediately knew Thomas heard him because of the broad smile that spread across his face. A soft chuckle escaped his lips at the sight of the dumb lovestruck expression on the brunet's face.

Maybe some parts of his past were worth being remembered.

* * *

 

_  
Epilogue:_

 

“ _I think it's called the Flare.”_

Newt closed his eyes, desperately trying to drown out the sound of his memories. The house, the warmth, the sun, the pale shade of blue. He threw the blanket of his body, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by everything that was touching him. The house, the warmth, the sun, the pale shade of blue. He could feel a sob stuck in his throat, waiting for him to exhale just to come out, so he kept his mouth shut, pursing his lips. The house, the warmth, the sun,-

He suddenly felt an arm draping over his waist. He completely stopped moving for a second, frozen. When he came back to his senses, his first instinct was to push it away, until he felt it. Thomas' warmth against his back. Home.

Newt instantly felt his breathing slow down, as his limbs started to get less tense. He felt his body weight down again on the mattress, his chest starting to rise up and down at the same time as the one he could feel behind him. He barely felt his own eyelids slowly falling shut against his will, as he slowly drifted into sleep.

The house,

The warmth,

The sun,

 _Thomas_.

 


End file.
